Shipping Up To Boston, Part 3: In Plain Sight
by ChapstickLez
Summary: Solving a cold case is never more important than when it brings the FBI to Boston, along with men from Jane and Maura's past.
1. Where They Date Guys

**DISCLAIMERS**

_**Rizzoli & Isles**_** belongs to Tess Gerritsen, Janet Tamaro, TNT, and the host of writers, producers, cast, and crew who create the show we love to watch. We are not any of those people.**

**Spoilers for Seasons One and Two and the books. Rated T for crime, murder, and a loving relationship with two sexy women.**

**This story is Part 3 in a series we've called 'Shipping Up to Boston (so if you haven't read the rest, some of the undertones won't make sense at all):**

**'Shipping Up to Boston, Part 0: The Trevor Project (see bit DOT ly/sutb0 )**  
><strong>'Shipping Up to Boston, Part 1: It Gets Better (see bit DOT lysutb1 )**  
><strong>'Shipping Up to Boston, Part 2: Occupy Boston (see bit DOT lysutb-2 )**

**Hold on to your hats. We're going to be running roughshod over your heart, addressing the difficulties Jane and Maura's relationship, covering the season two finale, and how they ended up dating, all via liberal use of flashbacks that are telling you half of the story out of order. You will need to pay close attention. Flashbacks are told in italics, out of order. The plain text is the 'now' timeline, and is told in chronological order.**

**Chapter titles from "The Edge of Gayzzoli" are used with gracious permission from Holly, on Twitter as EdgeOfHolzzoli.**

**Co-written by Chapsticklez and Googlemouth. You can find us on Twitter as chapsticklez and Googlemouth. Beta-edited by WalnutHulls (aka WalnutHulls on Twitter).**

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><p><strong>Guest Cast (In order of appearance): <strong>Agent Gabriel Dean (Billy Burke), US Marshal Gary Obrecht (Tony Denison), Agent Anna Farrell (Tessa Thompson), Patrick Doyle (John Doman), Constance Isles (Jacqueline Bisset), Father Daniel Brophy (John Slattery), Joe Grant (Donnie Wahlberg)

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><p><strong>Chapter One — Where They Date Guys<strong>

Gunshots, far too many for the clips that filled Jane's service Glock. Carbon. Cordite. Shouts that should have been intelligible but were not; words that meant nothing except more disorder in her brain, more ringing in her ears. Thuds of bodies hitting the ground from distances too great, over and over. Blood, slick and sticky, all over her hands, her clothes, spreading to cover the floor, rising as she knelt and tried like a little Dutch boy to stem the swelling, growing ocean of it, staining her knees, her clothes, stinking with iron, writhing with snakes of DNA so large they bound her wrists together like zip-ties. Whispers, gasps, cries — lies — of hope.

Maura awoke in a cold sweat. The house was cold and dark, this nearly winter night, and while Bass's habitat was kept warm for his health, the evening had been mild enough to allow Maura a last gasp at sleeping with the windows open. And still, she was covered in perspiration, which was rapidly cooling to chill her all over.

Reaching over by habit for the comfort of her lover, she was not surprised to find the spot empty, only resigned. The sound of gunshots, the smells of fear and chemicals, were all in her head. She was not applying pressure to her father's wounds as he bled out all over the ground, blood was not rising to cover her kneeling knees, hips, ribcage, chin, head, and Maura was not yelling at anyone.

And yet.

Her hands were slick with sweat, her throat hurt as if she'd been screaming and crying. When Maura rubbed her eyes, her hands came away with the dampness of tears and snot, which a small, rational part of her mind identified as the reason she had seemed to herself to be drowning as she struggled to wake.

_Two in the morning is too late to call anyone,_ she told herself firmly. _I am a strong, capable woman in my thirties. I am perfectly able to take care of myself. There are no bogeymen in my closet or under my bed._

But she shivered. Two o'clock in the morning or not, Maura got out of bed and took a shower to regain her equilibrium. The water, warm and gentle, did not wake her up, nor did it sooth her back to a state in which she might be able to sleep. Meditation did not appeal to her at the moment, and the memory of Jane's teasing comment about how Dr. Ruth said it made you sexier did not make Maura smile.

She knew what and whom she needed.

She knew the phone call would not be answered.

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><p>"Rizzoli," barked Jane into her phone. Cranky, tired, and fussy, all she wanted was to see the backs of her eyelids for a couple hours, and not have to deal with crap. Turn off her brain and meditate. Instead she was sitting in a hallway, at three in the morning, waiting for her turn to talk to someone she didn't want to ever see again.<p>

"Janie, something's wrong." Angela Rizzoli sounded nervous, almost scared, and Jane nearly dropped her phone.

_Why is Ma calling me in the middle of the night? _Three AM was early even for Angela to be up. "Are you okay?" she asked immediately, ignoring the pointed looks from Gabriel Dean. He too was tired and cranky. She couldn't blame him. "I told you not to call unless it was an emergency."

Frustratingly, Angela hesitated. "Maura was crying. I could hear her. And now her lights are on. It's been getting worse all week."

Jane winced and got up, walking to the far end of the room, as far away from Dean as possible. That would be why Dispatch forwarded the call, despite Cavanaugh's standing order that, short of a terrorist attack on Boston, Rizzoli was not to be contacted. No one ignored a mother who said it was important. "Why didn't she... Never mind. I told you, Ma, you have to check in on her while I'm gone!"

"I did," promised Angela, fervently. "I have breakfast and dinner with her. I even bring her lunch in that... In her office. She just cries at night. And she doesn't sleep."

Silently Jane swore. A hand on her shoulder sent her jumping, nearly decking Gabriel Dean. "Hang up, Rizzoli," he said firmly.

_How did I ever, in my life, find your pasty, man-booby self sexy? _Jane wondered. "It's my _mother_, Agent Dean. Even you Feebies have them. Unless it's true that you're not born, you're just requisitioned with forms. In triplicate."

This did not chase Dean away. "You know the rules. Hang up or I take it."

"I'd like to see you try," snapped Jane. They were spared a fight by the US Marshal, Obrecht, who coughed and told Jane to wrap it up fast. "Ma, I'm sorry, I can't... Call Father Brophy." Overriding her own feelings and her mother's protests of Maura being agnostic, Jane plowed on. "Just call him! Please, Ma."

Before the US Marshal could take her phone away, Jane hung up and handed it to him. She knew she'd be in some trouble for the phone, but she didn't really care right now. "Sorry, Detective Rizzoli. But they're ready to see you now." Jane nodded and quietly went into the room.

Relief washed over her as she recognized the FBI agent. "You know, technically he's my superior," smiled the young Anna Farrell. Jane smiled weakly, but sat down. "I didn't thank you for this recommendation, Jane. It means a lot to me."

"I needed an FBI agent I could trust," replied Jane, grimly.

"All the same, it means a lot to me." Anna held her hand out and they shook. "But if you can stop picking fights with Special Agent Dean, I'd really appreciate that too."

Jane smirked, tiredly, "No promises." Then she cleared her throat. "I'm Detective Jane Rizzoli, badge num—"

"Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?"

Jane blinked, "Every other time I had to go over the... This is about the case, right?"

The younger woman shook her head. "It is and it isn't. It's part of his deal." Anna stood up and opened the other door.

Not particularly tall, broad, and less stocky than he'd been the last time Jane saw him, Patrick Doyle was dressed in chinos, a bright blue polo shirt, and a bright blue vest with the Walmart logo emblazoned on the breast. Unexpectedly, Jane started laughing. "I know, but it's my work uniform. I'm a goddamned greeter," grumbled Boston's most notorious hitman. He held his arms out and turned around for Jane, and she found herself helpless with hysteria. It was worse when he started laughing too.

Eventually the laughing wore out, and they sighed with relief, two people who had badly needed a belly laugh. "You look good, Rick," smiled Jane, careful to use his new, WitSec approved, name.

"You look like crap," he replied. "Not sleeping?"

"Had a — No, I'm not," Jane sighed. They both looked at Anna, who coughed and said she'd give them privacy. After she left, Jane muttered, "I bet they're still recording us."

Paddy — Richard Dale — shook his head. "Better not, or the deal's off." Then he leaned forward. "How is she? Did you tell her?"

No need to specify who 'she' was. Jane shook her head. "Not exactly."

_Thunderclouds had been gathering since morning, the sky's great inhalation prior to a violent shout, on the night that Jane came to Maura's door. This was going to be the worst conversation she would ever have to face, but the ache in her heart wasn't letting her sleep nights. Even though she had the key, she knocked on the door._

_Constance opened the door, her hair starting to grow back, the bruises on her face subsiding. She said nothing to Jane, but nodded and motioned for her to stand in the entry way. "Maura, dear. Someone's here to see you," called Constance, gently._

_Days before, Jane had arranged to 'accidentally' bump into Constance at physical therapy while Maura was away. Constance wouldn't bellow at Jane in public, and the shunning was survivable long enough for Jane to explain "I need to _not_ tell Maura something about her father, because if she's going to hate me, I need it to be for the right reasons. And it's not, right now." Bless Constance, she understood the convoluted sentence immediately, and agreed to help._

_Now, after almost a week of planning, Jane was at Maura's door. Surprised, Maura came to the door and Jane watched her face crumple from hope into agony. "Go away!" shouted Maura. "I don't want to see you!" Instead of turning away, Maura stormed towards Jane and pushed her shoulders. "And give me my key back!"_

_Without contest, Jane held the key out, already removed from her chain, expecting this moment. "Please, just give me a minute."_

_"No, no I won't," snarled Maura. "You lost that right." She snatched the key out of Jane's hand with such ferocity, the key ring left a burn on Jane's palm._

_"Please! I need to tell you something, but I can't tell you!"_

_Glancing first at Constance, who was calmly standing to the side (out of the way of the fight), Maura frowned, "Well that's _your_ problem." Her voice was bitter and cold. The Ice Queen. "Leave my house, or I'll call the police."_

_Jane ignored her words for a moment. "Please — Damn it, Maura, you're a doctor! Just think! Where did I shoot him?" Never would Jane suggest Maura shouldn't be mad at her. Never would she try to argue she'd been wrong. But right now, she needed Maura to use that big brain of hers and think. As Maura opened her mouth, Jane spread her hands out, flat to the ground. "Just — where. Okay?"_

_Painfully, the emotions crawled across Maura's face. First she was pissed as hell at Jane, yeah, deserved that. Then she was surprised. Anger was fighting with science, and finally she closed her eyes. The little angry crease in her forehead changed into the one she got when she was processing. And Jane waited. Like a gambling addict praying for that one card to turn, those two dice to roll up seven, or three cherries to line up, Jane willed Maura to look and see what she was saying. Jane prayed to God to make Maura understand, even just a little bit._

_Finally Maura spoke. "Was Agent Dean supposed to be there?" She did not open her eyes, she did not look at Jane._

Okay, wasn't expecting that,_ thought Jane. "No," she said firmly._

_Again. "Was Agent Dean supposed to be there?" This time, Maura's eyes locked on Jane._

_Just as firmly, Jane repeated. "No. No he was not." Silence hung between them, which was a hell of a lot better than the yelling or the shoving. "I told him to stay away. I didn't want him there." They stared at each other for long, drawn out seconds. "Look, ask Korsak. I said we needed to get Doyle off the streets." Jane's voice cracked a little as she said it._

_Light dawned in Maura's eyes, behind the anger. "You did."_

_Some of the tension went out of Jane's body. "I did," she agreed._

_"And you did," Maura said, softly. The anger was still there._

_"I did," repeated Jane, her voice calm._

_Maura looked away again, from both Jane and her mother. This time, Jane was able to avoid filling the silence. It helped that Constance was nodding at Jane, mouthing that it was all right. "I'm still very, very angry at you, Jane."_

_Jane nodded so hard, her head hurt. "You should be! You totally — Yes. But I — I couldn't live without you being mad at me for the right reasons, Maura." Jane swallowed and carefully added, "I love you. You're my best friend. Hate me as long as you need to. I deserve it."_

Why the hell is Constance rolling her eyes at me right now!_ wondered Jane, before she ignored it. Not screwing up things worse with Maura was more important than a mother being weird._

_Finally Maura nodded. "I need space."_

_Jane stepped back right away. "I — You — Yes. Yes." Another step and Jane was even with the doorway. "I'm going to go now." She took another step back, now she was outside the door and on the stoop. As she looked at Maura, she raised her eyebrows hopefully, but received only a frown._

_The door was closed. The keys were not returned. But for the first time in agonizing months, Jane felt hope._

Leaving out the details, they were still too painful for Jane to recount in full, she told Rick the bare minimum. Maura was upset that Jane was keeping secrets, and while Jane wanted to say something to Maura, it wasn't possible. Jane started to massage her hands, not out of misplaced irritation, but the damned humidity. It always felt like it was going to rain here. "I can't tell her you're alive, Pad_—_ _Rick_. I just asked her where I shot you."

He nodded slowly. "She's smart. She'll know you didn't kill me."

"You'd think," grumbled Jane. "I told her I had to get you off the street, so she thinks that you dying was an accidental part of my plan."

Rick snorted. "I told you he'd screw things up."

Resisting the urge to flip off a hitman, Jane made a fist and, in doing so, popped... something in her hand. Maura would have known what it was called, but all Jane could think was that it felt good. How could she tell a hardened criminal that she and his daughter may have broken up? That she, who had 'killed' him and recovered a friendship from that trauma couldn't get over one little, tiny, argument. Jane took a deep breath, "Look, that's not why I'm supposed to be here."

"You're here because I won't work with _them_ without you," Rick Dale said firmly. "And part of that is because I know you care about my daughter, and you'll do anything to protect her. Anything I ask."

Damn it. He had been listening that day. "So?" asked Jane. "I'm here, where I can't tell Maura who I'm with, what I'm doing, or even take her damn phone call — they took my phone because I was talking to my mother about _her_ waking up at night, screaming or crying where Ma can hear her, for Christ's sake, _Rick!_ So all I can tell you is that your daughter's fine, but we're having a fight cause I shot her father, and ever since then, I vanish for days at a time and I can't tell her _anything_ about it."

She watched as Doyle — damnit, _Dale_— caught on. "Oh."

"Oh," mimicked Jane, sarcastically.

In a smaller voice, Dale admitted, "Actually, there's a case. My... son's mother. She was murdered. I didn't do it, but the FBI attributed it to me. I want you to catch the bastard." He sounded like Maura, when she'd asked Jane to find out who hit her mother with a car. Jane's heart ached and she looked away. All she wanted right now was to hold Maura, be anywhere but here with 'Rick Dale.' "If I'd known..."

She stared out the window for a while, trying to swallow all her emotions and be Work Jane, not lonely Girlfriend Jane. The lines between the Janes were getting blurred, and the last time she let that happen was with Casey. Look how well _that _ended. With effort, Jane shook off Girlfriend Jane. The lines between the Janes were there for a reason, and every time she'd ever made an exception, it had ended in disaster. Never again. "Well," she said firmly to Dale, "You didn't, and it doesn't matter. Look, I'm here to help make you happy, so the FBI is happy, so I don't have to keep coming to the shitty part of Florida. Fine, I'll solve a murder for you. But damn it, stop screwing up my holidays and... and my personal life!"

Dale looked abruptly enlightened. it was the same look Maura would get when she suddenly understood something about pop-culture, or a joke, or something that caught Jane's attention. "I think I can help." Lacing his fingers together, the hit man smiled a cold grin that sent chills up Jane's spine.

Why did she get the feeling she'd just walked into a devil's bargain?

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><p>When you had no one to talk to, you were more alone than you ever thought. <em>Damn her. Damn her for doing this to me, <em>raged Maura, silently, as she got out of the shower. She had been perfectly fine before Jane. Solitude was a blesséd state, and the true opposite of loneliness. Enjoying others, but not needing them, had been fine for her entire life. And then Jane had to come in and muddle her thinking, adulterate her simplicity, make her fleeting liaisons seem entirely unsatisfactory, where once they had been highlights to which she eagerly looked forward, and just as happily let go when they were over. Why did her best friend have to show up so often, looking like something the cat wouldn't drag in, needy and scared, and somehow be more appealing than the assignations Maura could have been having instead?

Why, moreover, did _Maura_ have to have such a soft spot for that, when it happened to someone as tough and brave as Jane? Oh, yes, she was tough. But someone who was nothing but tough bored Maura to tears, figuratively speaking, of course. Then again, someone who was nothing but needy just made her impatient: she'd gone into forensic medicine, not psychiatry, for a reason, she thought grouchily as she yanked her bathrobe off its satin padded hanger and pulled it on. But Jane had such strength about her — maybe that was a better word than toughness, which was really just external calluses, while strength originated in the marrow and spread outward. _Semantics._ The point was, Maura considered as she combed fingers, laden with leave-in conditioner, through wet hair, unable to neglect lifelong, ingrained grooming habits... What was the point? The point was, Maura Isles was not used to needing anyone. Didn't like it. Hated the disappointment of needing what wasn't given, and so she simply didn't need. Only now, she did, and it was pissing her off. Why did she have to need someone, and that someone couldn't be with her? Why had Jane _made_ Maura love her and need her and want her here? Good grief, this was worse than Garrett. At least Garrett had made few bones about the fact that he...

No, that wasn't true. He had, in fact, _said_ he loved her, wanted her, needed her. Wanted her to share his life. That was what he said, every time he pleaded with her to skip just one class to hang out with him, neglect the proper amount of sleep in order to stay up late with him at his dorm room. Go out with his friends and their girlfriends, each of whom, like herself, seemed to be a necessary adjunct. The women who were insiders, who were the friends themselves, seemed to be the stars in their academic fields, very pretty, and members of Garrett's social set — which Maura was not. That is, her parents were wealthy and old money, but not _American_ old money. Not Boston royalty, merely noble newcomers. Maura herself was not big business, not Boston royalty, not about to be the smiling, perfect wife of a fair-haired boy in politics. She was not content to be an accessory.

But he wanted her to share _his_ life, be on his arm at social functions, be in his bed, take part in his accomplishments. He saw her study of medicine as something personally enriching for her, but not necessary. Something she could enjoy, almost as a pastime, rather than as a career in which she would shine on her own. Garrett thought that forensic pathology was a cute hobby, not a calling. In his mind, he'd seen _himself_ as her calling.

That was why she had stopped needing him.

But Jane...

Jane knew Maura first as a professional. They met because of their professions, and bonded at first over the fact that they were, simply put, both women. There were others, but not a lot; and both Maura and Jane excelled in their fields, Jane as an accomplished detective with a stellar close rate and some especially high-profile cases, Maura as Chief Medical Examiner. Both of them had played the boys' games and won them, and defended their championships against all comers. Rather than seeing Maura as little and cute, with her lab coat and scalpel like Autopsy Barbie, Jane looked on Maura as instrumental to her own work, and as someone to be respected. She understood Maura's passion for the work, embraced it, even admired it. She'd said so, in so many words, on more than one occasion.

It was mutual. Jane was Maura's hero because of her devotion to her job, to the people of Boston. She didn't try to be a hotshot or daredevil, but she also didn't hesitate to do whatever was needed, whatever the cost to herself. She, too, had fought for respect in a mostly-male profession and a family that didn't always take her seriously. People who thought she was having fun, running around with a gun on, but would someday quit the job and settle down to become a pretty, pretty princess and soccer mom to two-point-five sparkling children. Not that she could never do that, Maura knew, but Jane was meant for other things: _meant_ by herself, choosing her destiny and making it real.

And when that hero had let her know that she viewed Maura as something of a hero too, not just a sweet-faced sidekick, they had become friends. Close friends, dear friends, and eventually lovers, who valued one another for all of what they were, rather than just picking and choosing parts they liked and ignoring the rest. They'd learned to rely on one another, and then, so gradually that even Maura the over-analyzer had failed to see it happening, to depend on one another.

Which Maura had begun realizing when her nightmares could only be stilled by Jane's presence. When Jane had been shot, the dreams had come, and Maura had needed her so badly. Needed _her_ to say she'd be fine, they'd be fine. That Jane wouldn't die, that Maura's best friend would come back to her. Byron Slucky had been arrogant, condescending, and hirsute, but he had been conscious and interested. He'd been a tender lover, but that hadn't been what Maura was looking for when she accepted his invitation to dinner one night. Tenderness had been the last thing on her mind. She just wanted someone athletic, who would wear her out so she couldn't dream anymore. Instead she'd gotten a cuddler who, after sex, fell asleep on top of her. At least she couldn't thrash around and bang her hand on her nightstand, like that one time. Yes, the nightmares had been... lessened. A bit. They were still sad, but not terrifying, so the man had served his purpose, until Jane was physically fit again, whereupon she'd found a reasonable excuse to dump him.

And the nightmares had returned. Not every night, of course. Maura had offered to stay a few nights with Jane, or suggested Jane coming over, and even with her in the guest room and Maura in her own bed, she had felt peaceful. Sometimes when Jane wasn't there, Maura managed to pretend well enough that she was, and the nightmares were held at bay. She could see them, waiting for her, but they remained chained up. Handcuffed, literally, in many of those dreams, so that they couldn't come and shoot Jane, or stake her to basement floors, or excoriate her — sometimes dreams could be even worse than a reality shaped by Hoyt, Maura discovered. But they always came back after a night or two without Jane, and so about once or twice a week, she would hint that one of them shouldn't be alone, and Jane would come over, or ask Maura to come over.

Ian was a... an aberration. Unexpected. Welcome, of course. She did love him. He was great in bed, and the novelty of having him there for a few days was enough to shake her unconscious mind enough to bring dreams of their time together in Africa, of previous visits, of starry nights out in the bush, of canvas tents in which they'd had to force themselves to be quiet because another tent was five feet away and the untreated cotton wasn't enough to muffle even the tiniest of their sounds. There had been no true nightmares during those days, only memories. She never dreamed of futures with Ian, only the past.

But then he left. She cried, and hurt, and Jane came by to hold her and blunt the teeth of the pain. She stayed, and Maura had no dreams at all that night, that she could recall.

Then came Hoyt, and the nightmares from before had new, stronger, sharper, meaner allies. Then Agent Dean, the killer of fathers. Now the nightmares were a gang, a posse. Any or all of them could assault her nightly, and if one of them needed a rest, the others could come in and take its place. Sometimes they assisted one another. With herself and Jane estranged for too long after the shooting of Patrick Doyle, Maura had had no true rest at all, not until Jane had found a way back into her life and her heart.

Jane's touch, Jane's voice, Jane's manner, could chase away the monsters. Sometimes even the thought of Jane was enough to send them away. But when Jane was gone, the dreams would eventually realize that Maura was alone, and they would come to keep her company and feed her their poisons.

She didn't want to need Jane. She wanted to just want Jane. Maura hated dependence, but somehow, Jane had made herself indispensable and irreplaceable. _I need her. She's not here, and I need her._

_Damn her._

Maura sighed, tied her robe, and went out to the living room to complete her nightmare ritual. Dream; scream; steam (shower); and tea.

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><p><strong>Maura needs your reviews to feel better about having nightmares and being alone. You want Maura to feel better, don't you?<strong>

**Anon reviews are turned off becuase someone decided to spam-review with vitriol and bile about the whole Brophy/Maura relationship.  
><strong>


	2. Friends and Family Give Their Blessing

**Chapter Two — Friends and Family Give Their Blessing**

At one point in his life, Father Daniel Brophy might have appealed to God and asked, _Why me?_ Today he knew exactly why him, and exactly what he'd done to deserve a 3 AM phone call. He was a priest, and such things were commonplace enough, though not as much as people liked to believe. Getting a phone call from a concerned parishioner was normal. Getting one from someone who happened to know him and needed a priest was also normal. Getting one from the mother of your ex-lover's secret girlfriend was a little on the weird side, even for Daniel Brophy, a man who had broken his vows once.

Before his liaison with Maura, Daniel had worked at Graystones Abbey, one of the few cloistered orders left in the Boston area. After a particularly devastating incident there, a case where he had been first introduced to Dr. Isles, though not Detective Rizzoli, Daniel had requested a transfer. He'd seen Dr. Isles before, her self-possessed beauty catching his attention. Daniel was a priest, but he wasn't dead, after all. The friendship that grew from that moment, however, created a network of lies that pained him to this day. What he did not have were regrets. He would always love Maura.

Thus, when Angela Rizzoli called him, saying that Janie told her to call him for Maura, thoughts of his bed and a few scant hours sleep were forgotten. Daniel left a note for his junior priest, asking him to take over that morning. There was a family in crisis that needed his help. Of all things that the meticulously honest Maura had taught him, the act of lying by omission was the most curious.

His ancient Chrysler LeBaron skidded on the ice roads, and Daniel was careful to neither speed nor swear as he navigated the slightly familiar path to Maura's home. Her new home. Daniel had never been inside this house, and as he pulled into the driveway, he felt a pang of unease. The lights were off. Perhaps he should have gone to Jane's apartment? As he meditated on this, a booted and robed figure hustled over from the guest house. Angela Rizzoli, of course, was still in her night clothes, holding up a key to Maura's.

_Because clearly my evening had to become more awkward,_ he sighed internally. "Are you sure we're not invading her privacy?" asked Daniel, adjusting his scarf.

"Janie said to call you, never mind the agnostic," repeated Angela firmly, and she unlocked the door and deactivated the alarm with practiced ease. Here was a woman used to waltzing into Maura's private home.

With another sigh, Daniel followed her in. "And where is Maura?" The living room was dark, and the only sign of life was the small, scruffy canine that belonged to Jane. Interesting. The dog regarded them with one, tired eye, and went back to sleep. _Excellent guard dog._

As if this was expected, Angela pointed Brophy to the couch once he'd hung up his coat. "She's taking a shower. She always takes a shower." Removing her boots, Angela bustled to the kitchen where she turned on the electric kettle and brought out a box of tea and a surprisingly fine cup. Neither of these things were, apparently, for Daniel, as Angela left them on the counter and came back to sit near him. "I know."

Startled, Daniel could only ask, "Know what?"

Angela exhaled loudly. It was the sound of a frustrated mother, annoyed with her child's recalcitrant or stubborn nature. "I _know_. Janie won't tell me, Maura won't tell me, but I know. I have eyes. I'm not an idiot."

Unbidden, two words leaped into Daniel's brain. _Oh. Shit. _He tried to swallow with a suddenly dry mouth, fearful that Angela knew about his affair with Maura. Best to play it cool. "I see. You know." This seemed to relieve Angela and she nodded. "And how do you feel about it?"

With a more tormented sigh, Angela shook her head. "I thought I'd be more... not-okay with it. It's not how I was raised, and _you_ know what the Church says."

"Yes, I do," agreed Brophy. "But I also know that the Christ instructed us in absolutely no uncertain terms, that we are to _Judge not, lest ye be judged._ He also stated in another discussion, which was recorded elsewhere in the Bible, that one should remove the log from one's own eye before pointing out the tiny splinter in someone else's. And if you have your Bible handy, you might enjoy rereading what is said in First Corinthians, chapter thirteen, verses four through eight. It was written by Paul, whom the Church honors as the first Pope."

Angela's eyes lifted, and her forehead creased with the effort of memory. "What's that got to do with Janie and Maura? Is that the part about wearing a hat or scarf in church?"

Brophy smiled, largely but not entirely in relief as he realized that Angela knew about _them,_ not about himself and Maura. The mild terror in his veins subsided. Unless Angela had a misguided notion that _Daniel_ and Jane were having an affair, this confession was borne of Angela's feelings of her daughter and Maura. Interesting. "No, that would be chapter eleven, verses one through sixteen." He lived for errors like that. Citing any Biblical passage, and hearing what someone else thought that passage said, always brought him hours of enjoyment later, in which he tried to reconstruct the person's thought process that would lead them to such a comparison. "The passage of which I'm speaking is about love. _Love is always patient and kind; love is never jealous; love is not boastful or conceited, it is never rude and never seeks its own advantage, it does not take offence or store up grievances._" As he spoke, Angela began echoing some of the words, and in some cases speaking them simultaneously; they had been a part of her wedding ceremony. "_Love does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but finds its joy in the truth. It is always ready to make allowances, to trust, to hope and to endure whatever comes. Love never comes to an end._" The final verse was longer; but here most people stopped, and Angela's memorization failed because the rest had not been what she spoke all those years ago beside the man who was, with every syllable they spoke together, becoming her husband.

Brophy stopped there, too; the rest was irrelevant to his point. As Angela's voice ceased, his did too, and he waited for the inevitable question: Where in that section does anybody mention her daughter being in love with another woman? But the question did not come. Angela was no mental slouch. Instead of the question, he watched enlightenment come. "That just talks about love, not about trying to... cut it up to make it fit into a box that's too small. Right?"

Another of the types of moments for which Daniel Brophy lived. "That is one interpretation, certainly. But it's more important what it means to you, Angela." Lacing his fingers together, Daniel rested his elbows on his knees. "You seem to be all right with this."

Much like her daughter when uncomfortable, Angela slouched. "I love my daughter, Father. But I took her for granted for years. Frankie and Tommy were always so needy, and they were _boys_. Always getting into stuff. And then Janie, it was like she'd do crazy things just to get my attention, except..." Angela trailed off and squirmed. "Except, see, I look back and I see my little girl, determined. You know? _Determined_. Like this, all this, was what she wanted, and nobody was gonna stop her from getting it."

"From whom do you think she learned that?" he asked, gently.

"Not me," muttered Angela. "Sometimes I think I learn it from her, though." She smiled, sheepishly. "I want to tell her I love her, and I want her to be happy, and I don't care — No, I do care who with! But I'm happy for... for who with!"

This was becoming a very elliptical conversation. An ongoing spiral. "You want her to tell you?"

Angela nodded, furiously. "But she's never come to me to tell me anything. I tried telling Maura, but you know her." Before Daniel had to think of a suitably safe response, there was a noise in the hallway. He couldn't see anyone, but gestured with his palm out, calling for quiet. Angela turned around.

"Angela?" said a tired and surprised Dr. Maura Isles, hair still mostly damp. "Angela, who are you talking — _Danny!_" One hand belatedly checked to be sure that her robe was tied. It was, but only just. She had become used to living in an all-female household, at least after hours. Tugging it self-consciously close, she glanced quickly from her former lover to her current lover's mother. "What are you doing here?"

Brophy wasn't much better off, clearing his throat. _I bet you think you're funny, don't you, Lord? I get it, okay? Forbidden fruits. Don't worry, I won't be snagging any more from your best tree. Or any other tree. But do you have to keep shoving them in my face?_

Angela, with only a raised eyebrow at Maura's use of a nickname for Father Brophy, gestured as if introducing them. "I know you had another nightmare," she said with a tone of apology for listening in. "And I know you need somebody to talk to, and I know you don't want to talk to me."

Now Maura was the guilty one, and it showed in her open, honest features and her expressive spine and shoulders rather than her voice. Angela was her friend. She should be able to talk to Angela, and it wasn't hard to see that not doing so was putting yet another wedge between them.

"...So I called Janie, and she said to call in Father Brophy." Angela stood and walked to the kitchen, where she prepared the one cup of tea she'd set out, then realized, "Uh, Father, would you like some? She's got a bunch of flavors."

_Funny,_ Daniel thought again, with just that extra touch of bitterness in his mental smile. _Yes, she does. Stop it, Daniel. Inappropriate. God, give me strength._ "Please," he agreed, mostly to be polite. "Something containing caffeine?"

Angela dropped in a bag of Earl Grey for him and some hibiscus herbal crap for Maura, put the cups on the tea tray with the sugar, honey, and artificial sweetener just in case, and brought the tray over to the coffee table. It might be Maura's home, but she was in no state to play hostess. "Here you go. Now, why don't I just get out of your hair, and you can talk." With that, she let herself out the front door and locked it behind her.

They were alone. Daniel watched the retreating figure and carefully prepared two cups of tea, once it was clear Maura was not going to make the first move. His own was black and strong, but Maura's was a mixture he'd seen her drink after a particularly trying case. "If you'd rather I leave, Maura, I understand. I admit, I felt as I drove here that I would be imposing."

Driven by habit, Maura sat on the couch, formal of posture, and as far away from Daniel as possible. He also scooted away, respecting her space. "No, I'm grateful for your presence," she said as her hands cupped the fine china for warmth. She'd finally convinced Angela that she did not live her life waiting for special occasions to use the good dishes, mostly by simply not having any that she didn't consider beautiful, other than the novelty coffee mugs that Jane had made her accustomed to having in small supply. "I'm surprised that Angela called you, more surprised that Jane told her to do so, and frankly I'm flabbergasted that she was able to reach Jane when I can't. I don't even know where she is."

Daniel pushed his hands through his hair. He'd not taken the time to shower and shave before coming over, so his night's bristles and bed-head gave him a 'regular guy' sort of look. The clerical collar kept his mind a little more clearly in the world of his work. "Jane's missing?" he asked curiously. "I wasn't able to ask Angela where she was, without getting a strange lecture on how she loved her daughter."

"Not missing, _per se,_" replied Maura, finally taking a sip from her cup; it gave her the opportunity to lower her eyes. Daniel, unshaven and uncombed, was a sight she had not thought to see again. Perhaps, she mused, she ought to have excused herself when she first realized he was here, to go and put on something more than her bathrobe. It was too late now, though; dressing would call attention to what she was wearing now, and her underlying understanding of what it would mean if she acknowledged it. She had to remain as she was. "She has duties, something to do with her work, and it's a legal matter that prevents her from telling me what the duties are or where she has to go. It's not... How can I say this? It's not her fault that she isn't here right now. It's just unfortunate that I don't sleep well without her anymore."

Daniel too took the opportunity to hide behind his tea. "Given that the, ah, dust mop of a dog in the corner logically belongs to Jane and not you, but that Angela doesn't seem fully aware of your relationship, I take it you're continuing in a... non-cohabitational living arrangement. Which can be stressful for all couples." A little lie. Daniel was fairly certain Angela knew full well that the two were seeing each other romantically. Digging into the counsel he gave married couples who, due to work or other reasons, could not live together all the time, Daniel sought for advice. The oddest one was a husband who spent half his nights in a sleep study. "Not sleeping well and having nightmares are different, Maura," he began carefully. "Angela said nightmares. Do you want to talk about them?"

"No." Maura sipped her tea again, leaving the bald refusal where it was, but knowing that Daniel wouldn't just get up and leave. He didn't. She sighed. "Yes." Eventually she let herself look at her former lover again, hazel eyes full of too much information, as always. "But do you really want to hear about them?"

_No,_ thought Daniel. However. "If you were a member of my church, my wants wouldn't matter, however. And I still consider you a dear friend, Maura. I have a moral obligation to offer you what comfort I can, which means listening to you unburden yourself, if that would help. Or... playing chess, discussing the news, or making soup for the less fortunate." All were activities they'd partaken of before their relationship, though Daniel wondered how safe they would be to attempt again. No, he had made his choice, and Maura hers. Jane would be a far healthier relationship, if they could get to some more peaceful waters. Not that he wouldn't rethink his choices if Maura showed any inclination to him again. _That ship has sailed, Danny-boy, _he told himself, firmly. "Were I to guess, I'd say that among other things, keeping secrets from your lover's mother is draining."

"It is," Maura admitted after a moment of silence in which it was far too easy for Brophy to imagine her following along with his thought process. "Keeping secrets, and remembering all the times Jane's been hurt and I thought I'd lose her. Remembering what Hoyt..." She paused, then, looking guilty once more. "I didn't tell you about what he did to us, did I?"

Daniel shook his head. "You did not. Though I hope you excuse Jane's coworkers for mentioning it in my presence. As I understand it, he attempted to kill you, and Jane—" Daniel stopped and made an impotent hand gesture. Words and gestures did not suffice, so he said, baldly, "Jane killed him." He would not repeat the comment Vince Korsak had made, about how Jane 'Hulked out' on Hoyt, and Daniel was certain many of the nuances of the case were lost on him. "Frankly, that situation would give any reasonable person nightmares."

Maura nodded, but added, "Hoyt kills— _killed _couples, Danny. His _modus operandi_ was to kill a wife, rape her dead body while the husband is restrained and made to watch, then kill the husband." There was no way to sugarcoat that, so she didn't even try. "He knew. He _knew_ I was the way to get to Jane, even well before we actually were a couple. The difference this time was that he wasn't even going to do either of us the courtesy of killing me first. She was special to him. As you might imagine, my medical knowledge and experience have made it very easy for my subconscious mind, my dreaming mind, to fill in the information that I don't have by direct experience. That, and the shooting, and the latest..."

She looked away, this time not at her teacup, but at one of the many art objects her decorator had brought into her home. It was an ostrich egg, decorated in Ukrainian pysanky style, what were commonly thought of as Russian Easter eggs. Beautiful, intricate, something she'd never have chosen to include in her home unless she'd actually been to the Ukraine and bought it herself, but the decorator assured her it was essential to the balance of the room. Now, looking at it, she agreed. It was the perfect thing to catch her eye and distract her from what she was about to say. "Jane shot my father."

Looking away meant Maura missed the wondrous montage of expressions that crossed Daniel Brophy's face. In order, he was shocked, horrified, confused, sympathetic, and then, finally, mystified. "Your... father? But I just read about him in the paper! The Times said he was in Uganda —"

"No, not my adoptive father," Maura corrected, finally looking back at him. She could only do that in small doses tonight, but it was time for another one. "My biological father. And before I say anything else, I need the seal of the confessional."

"You're agnostic," replied Brophy, partly amused, partly intrigued, mostly worried.

Maura's brow arched. She knew her non-belief as well as he did. "Yes, but I need complete confidentiality. If you give me a vow of confidentiality, that's good enough for the church, but you could still be legally compelled to produce in a court of law the information I'll be giving you. Therefore, I need this to be stronger than that." She did not cross herself, but perhaps the sipping of the last of her tea would do as a similar gesture, at least in her mind; she did it with the air of one taking communion, and then set the empty cup aside. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I have never given confession in the manner of a Catholic, but I was given a baptism in infancy which Catholic Church accepts as binding, and so I am permitted to give confession. Will you hear my sin?"

It was a hell of thing for her to ask, and Daniel regarded Maura in all seriousness. _You really have it in for me tonight, Lord._ He closed his eyes for a moment to reflect on his options. If he said no, which was within his right legally, Maura would have no one. The duty of a priest went beyond just caring for only one's own flock, but for all the strays. He would not, could not, leave someone in need, just because they weren't a Catholic. _At the heart of it_, he asked himself, _what would Jesus do? _And the answer was simple: "May the Lord be in... our hearts to hear you make your full and good confession."

Tension eased its way out of Maura's posture. Not all, but enough to let her sit back a little on the couch and curl her legs beneath her as she would normally do with a friend. Interesting, Brophy realized, that she'd been formal until entering such a formal situation as confession. Then again, perhaps unburdening herself was something she could only do with him as a man, and therefore, even though he was acting as a priest, she couldn't see him that way. She never had, really, seen him as a priest.

"I have withheld important information from the official record," Maura stated. "Information I knew would affect my job if it were discovered, information that the lieutenant would have wanted to know. I've deliberately kept the knowledge to myself, despite knowing that, if it were discovered, certain of my findings in some cases might actually be called into question, along with my integrity."

Ah. So there _was _a sin, of a sort. Not mortal, not venal, but legal. Brophy lifted his teacup to his lips and, just before drinking, said what he would normally say. "I understand," and with some irony which Maura didn't miss, "my child."

"My biological father is Patrick Doyle."

The tea would have made a comical arc in the air, had Brophy not managed to overcome his inclination to spit-take, and swallowed the rather hot tea. He did not, sadly, manage to repress his first thought, and did say "Shit!" rather loudly. Swallowing air more than once, he let his mouth hang open to cool his scalded tongue. "Patrick 'Paddy' Doyle? The Enforcer?" His death had made the news, and was the sideways topic of a sermon he'd given.

In any other moment, Maura would have found that funny. Now, she had more serious matters on her mind, so while a part of her noticed the narrowly avoided spit-take and the swearing, she did not mention it. "The same. I don't know who my biological mother is. He wouldn't tell me. But he was at a warehouse when I went to meet with a fireman about the arson he had committed there — the fireman, not Doyle — and Doyle shot him when the arsonist threatened me. Then... other things happened," she truncated, "FBI Special Agent Gabriel Dean shot him in the upper chest, and Jane also shot him. Even though hers wasn't the kill shot, I didn't know that for quite some time, and the event managed to work its way into my subconscious mind well enough that I still dream about watching him fall from where he was, a full story off the ground. That was also when my mother was struck by a hit-and-run driver, just a few days before, so the trauma of watching my best friend kill my father figures into those dreams heavily."

It was impressive, actually, the amount of violence that Maura had witnessed or experienced in less than a year's time, Brophy reflected. He'd have been shocked if she didn't have nightmares. "And you dreamed about one of those incidents tonight?"

Maura nodded. "Apparently Angela heard me screaming and called Jane. I feel bad for not being able to confide in Angela, and worse for knowing Jane can't answer my calls when she's... wherever she is, doing whatever she does there. I hate having to admit this, because it makes me sound so melodramatic and needy and codependent, but she's... Her presence keeps the dreams away. She makes me feel safe."

Almost absently, Brophy sipped his tea again. Thankfully it had cooled enough to no longer damage him. "It doesn't sound melodramatic," he said, thoughtfully. It sounded like they were in love, or at least Maura was in love with Jane. It sounded romantic, in an oddly convoluted way. _I need to stop reading those Mary Higgins Clark books_, he told himself firmly. "If I remember correctly, you said you and Jane became close friends when she spent the night at your house, seeking comfort and safety from you. She most likely misses your presence as well, wherever she is." There was something else, something about Doyle that was nagging his memory.

Again, Maura nodded affirmation. "She does. It's been a long time since she had nightmares with me, or I with her. We each had a very few nights, sometimes overlapping, just after we were captured by Hoyt, but not since then, unless we sleep apart. Which, really, we only do once in a while in order not to draw Angela's attention to our togetherness. But tonight's dream wasn't about Hoyt. It was about Doyle. I kept replaying the way he's spoken to Jane in my presence, or at least in my hearing. He acted... differently when speaking to Jane. Almost like a real father."

That was when it hit him.

_"Father, there's a man who went into the confessional."_

_Father Daniel Brophy stared at the blank screen on his laptop. He had tried, for the umpteenth time, to come up with this week's sermon. Normally Daniel liked to work a few weeks ahead, but on his re-read of the sermon the night before, reading it aloud to Dr. Maura Isles, she'd made a face. Barely a face. Just a slight twitch. When he'd asked what was wrong, she'd simply said she felt he was reaching. That the parable didn't really relate. Thus, the next morning he was trying to re-write as fast as possible, while blocking out the memory of the rest of the night._

_"I'll be right there," he told his secretary and rubbed his face. _Is it wrong to hate confession, Lord?_ he asked himself. The answer was, of course, no, but it was wrong to shirk your duties. Daniel exhaled, visited the bathroom, washed up, and pulled on his vestments. The secretary directed him to the right confessional and he slid in._

_The screen was closed, indicating the need for a private confession, but Daniel could hear breathing. "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, let us say Amen."_

_The reply of "Amen" was in a male voice. Boston to its core, much like Daniel's parents._

_"Forgive me Father for I have sinned. It has been 22 days since my last confession. I accuse myself of the following sins..." The voice stopped. "Adultery, I lied to my mother, I haven't been to church as often as I should... There are more, but I plan on doin' them again, so I can't ask you for contrition about them."_

_Daniel stared at the back of the door of the confession, wondering who on earth he had in there. "While the primary point of confession is to receive the Sacrament of Reconciliation, which you are correct, my son, requires you to be contrite and repentant, there are many reasons a person comes to speak with a priest under this auspice. Have you minor sins that you engage in that burden your soul?"_

_The man on the other side shifted. "Pretty sure murder's a mortal sin, Father." Daniel blinked and his head snapped to stare at the closed grill to his left. He heard the screen scrape as his confessor drew it back on his side. With a shaking hand, Father Brophy pulled his screen back and looked through it. "Do you know who I am, Father?"_

_Daniel Brophy was Irish Catholic. He was raised in Southie by a father who told him stories of the Irish Mob Wars, and he knew which families to avoid. Daniel had seen his childhood friends join the gangs and attended many of their funerals. Others he visited in prison, but a great deal more were just normal, middle class kids, who told stories that probably weren't true. But he knew the face of the man sitting in confession. His mother had pointed that man out once, telling little Danny Brophy to stay away from him and never talk to him. One of his brothers had been spanked for staring too long. His sister had cried at the very mention of his name._

_His throat was dry and he managed a faint nod. "Yes," he whispered. "Mr. Doyle."_

_This seemed to satisfy the man. "I know you're having an affair with a woman, Father."_

Oh my God, I'm about to be blackmailed by the Mob!_ It was the only thought in Daniel Brophy's head. He was about to be blackmailed and hauled into working with the Mob because he was in love with a woman. A moment later he thought, _What does the mob want with a Catholic priest?_ "I see," he replied slowly, trying to keep his face a mask._

_"You understand this is a wrong thing to be doing, Father. I don't have to tell you where broken vows fall on the spectrum. We're both masters of sin categorization." There was humor, laughter, in Patrick Doyle's rough voice. "It isn't going to last, Daniel," he continued. "You and she won't last. Sooner or later, you're gonna have to make a decision. Her or the Church, Daniel."_

_The irony of a murderer telling Daniel all about his own sin was not lost, but for the life of him, Daniel Brophy couldn't think of what to say. Admit to his sins to a killer? Something he hadn't yet done to anyone, for much the same reasons Doyle wasn't confessing to murder. "I am not contrite," he said simply._

_"No, no you sure don't sound like you are," agreed Doyle. "And that's the problem. You don't want to let her go, but you won't let the Church go. Let it go, Brophy, before you hurt her." Doyle slid the confessional screen shut and recited his sins. Simple sins, normal ones. And then he prayed. "O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended you and I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of heaven and the pains of hell. But most of all because I have offended you, my God, who are all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve with the help of your grace, to confess my sins, to do penance and to amend my life. Amen."_

_Reflexively, Daniel replied. "Amen. Give thanks to the Lord for He is good."_

_"For His mercy endures forever."_

_And Patrick Doyle left the confessional._

_Father Daniel Brophy did not. He sat in the silence and the dark, having turned off the light that indicated a priest was available for confession. What did Patrick Doyle want with him? Why would he care that he loved a woman? Admittedly, yes, it was a sin. Daniel broke his vows every night he slept with Maura, and every day told himself it would be the last time. The last day._

_But he didn't have the courage to stop._

_In the end it was Maura who ended it, who sent him away so she would be free to tend a murder scene, a victim, and Jane._

Had Jane been there, she might have waved her hand in front of Brophy's face. Maura, however, waited until Daniel collected himself. Something had, clearly, triggered a strong memory in him. Only when she thought she had his attention again did she ask, "Did he speak to you about me?"

"I don't know."

A lie. He looked her right in the face, though not in the eyes, and lied, and Maura knew it. Not for nothing had she learned facial expression recognition the way others learned a foreign language, studying it in its minutest details of vocabulary, twitch, movement, grammar, tense, case, glance, the timing of blinks, the depth of breathing. It was not second nature to her, but something she had to consciously consider. But Daniel Brophy was a book she had studied in depth, not a brand new text whose words she would have to look up in order to assemble their meanings and choose the likeliest candidates. She had read him by sight, by sound, and by Braille. One eyebrow lifted. "Confession," she did not guess, but knew.

With a pained wince, Daniel sipped his tea. It was probably answer enough for anyone, but he felt compelled to add, "I have only broken one vow, Maura. I will not break another." He did not squirm, though Daniel was clearly aware of the awkwardness of this conversation. When Maura had first met Daniel Brophy, on the case of a nun's death, the accusation of his potential relationship with the deceased had hung between them. At the time, Daniel had insisted he had never broken a vow. This was no longer the case, as Maura well knew, but it was in the same firm intonation that he informed her he would not break his vows again. Not even for her.

It was comforting; at least Maura knew that he would take her own confession just as seriously. But she needed the information, not for a case or for a legality, but for her own knowledge of the man she only half identified as a part of herself, her life. Her actual life, her existence, not just the construct of events and actions. "I won't ask you to do that," she agreed, though she had been ready to do just that. "Will you be silent as I ask you questions?"

The law, at least as it was honored in Boston, was clear. If asked a question about information gained in Confession, Father Daniel Brophy had but one answer: I don't know. It was intended to mean 'I do not know, outside the strictures of confession.' and it served the Catholic Church well in many situations. This was not one of them. Daniel looked at his hands quietly. "That's really not fair of you to ask me, Maura." Unspoken was the truth that she, of all women in this world, more than his own mother, could read him like a book. However he raised his eyes to meet hers in silent acquiescence.

Maura took a deep breath and looked away. It _wasn't_ fair. She shouldn't do it. It would hurt him, and because of the depth of their friendship and history, her as well. It was unethical. It was wrong. She exhaled and turned back with apology in her eyes. "Did Patrick Doyle come to you for confession?"

There was no answer from Brophy. She nodded. "Thank you," she said, and it might has well have been _I'm sorry._"Did he speak to you about me?" Again, no answer. "Thank you. Did he specifically speak about us?" Brophy remained stoic. She sighed. "Thank you. Did he ask you to take care of me?"

"What?"

Ah. That reached him. Maura's own eyebrows shot upward in response to Brophy's sudden startlement. "Oh."

And then he understood, too. Doyle had not asked him to take care of Maura. He had asked Brophy to do the right thing by her. But Maura had known someone else to whom Doyle had given that protective, fatherly instruction. "He spoke to Jane?"

This time, it was Maura who was silent. _Yes._

* * *

><p>Almost seven AM, and she was sitting with Dean. Again. This time Marshal Obrecht had her phone, and had delivered a mild reprimand for not turning it in that morning. Yesterday morning. Whatever. Jane tried to get comfortable in the chair and sleep, but the solid metal (aluminum, said her inner Maura) was cold and unyielding (unlike Maura). <em>Great, I'm fantasizing about my girlfriend while I sit in a room with Dean. Shoot me. Now.<em> Except she had shot herself before, and been shot, and hit in the head with a trowel, tazered, burnt with a flare, staked through the hands, and countless other idiotic injuries in the line of duty.

The pain of those injuries were nothing compared to the pain Jane would cause Maura if they happened again.

Not that Jane was going to stop tackling killers, or hitting meth-heads with chairs, but she certainly thought about the implications more, now. Life was bigger than just herself now. Life that was just Jane was chaotic, messy, and unpredictable. Then there was Maura, who fit things into their place, who organized and collated everything, put them into the correct order, color-coded, charted, and then proudly displayed her work to Jane, like a cat with all her dead animals lined up according to genus and species. If anyone else tried that with Jane, she'd go nuts. When her mother tried to organize her life, she had. But when Maura organized her pots and pans, everything felt right. Like Jane's mess and Maura's neatness balanced each other out.

Jane sighed and opened her eyes, watching the sun come up through the window.

"Jane," said a very unwelcome male voice. "Can we talk?"

Thinking _no, _Jane glanced at Dean. "Why?" she asked, not bothering to hide the exhaustion in her voice.

His lank hair hung, covering one eye. "You really don't like all the lying," he said, not answering her question. "For me, keeping secrets, not telling people what's really going on in my life, it's second nature." Dean tossed his hair out of his face. "I should have told you why I was back in town."

Protectively, Jane folded her arms over her chest. "First it's Hoyt, then it's Doyle. I get it, you get off on serial killers."

"What?" Dean was startled out of whatever misguided confession he'd been trying to stumble through. "No. God, that's disgusting." Inwardly, Jane grinned at having disgusted Dean. Mutual. "I mean, I took the case... I took the Doyle case because I knew you'd had dealings with him before. So we could work together and talk about it."

Jane stared at Dean for a long time. "You took cases so you could see me?" She was incredulous.

"Only after the first one."

He was her own personal FBI stalker. Jane knew that Dean had first come to see her because of her insight into Hoyt, and wasn't that charming? Could you imagine being on the Newlywed Game? _I met my husband because I have deep insight into the mind of serial killers. Why the hell am I thinking about Dean and being married! Vomit!_ "That's really creepy, Dean." They sat in silence, appreciating that for a moment. "What are you trying to get at? I'm really tired, and any fucks I gave left the building at four o'clock in the blesséd AM."

Perhaps her voice was explaining her mood better than her look. "I'm trying to get at I think we should give it another chance." Jane's arms fell, her hands landing in her lap, and she stared at Dean in open mouthed shock. "I know, there was a lot of shooting going on, and Dr. Isles is mad at me for that... But she's a professional. She could totally get past it. And I think you and me, we could be really good. I was wrong to bring Agent Dean in when you asked me to just be Gabriel." He said it like it was an in-joke between them.

Then he waited. And waited. "Jane?" ventured Dean very carefully after at least a full minute of silence. "Do you want to go get something to eat? Talk about it? I still care about you, a lot, and I really want to give us another chance."

* * *

><p><strong>Are we mean? Reviews will let you know if Jane's going to give Dean another chance.<strong>


	3. One Confession From You

**Chapter Three — One Confession From You**

_It had taken weeks since Jane's first foray into resuming a friendship with Dr. Maura Isles after shooting Doyle for them to come to a non-antagonistic work relationship. Sadly, the stalemate at work did not extend to off-hours, and that meant Jane spent a lot of time taking yoga at weird hours, going to the gym when she knew Maura wasn't there, visiting a different bar if she wanted a drink, just going home that night when she heard the guys inviting Doc Isles out with them, oh, and a million other little things she'd changed because Maura needed space. She'd been sitting in the Dirty Robber, alone, eating lunch and hoping she wouldn't just throw it up later, when Maura just came in and sat across from her. As if nothing had happened._

_Except there, in Maura's eyes, was anger that cut Jane to the quick. "Uh, hi. Want some?" she'd asked, gesturing at her burger._

_"It's very unhealthy, you should eat a salad." Maura stared at Jane. "You're not sleeping enough. You need to eat better food to compensate for the shoddy hours you keep, and get your body healthier so that you have a chance at regulating your sleep schedule when you don't get called in, and —" This time it was the doctor who cut herself off. Jane was too scared at the tenuous nature of their relationship to even try._

_Time inched past. "Yeah, I'm not sleeping_..._ I've been busy."_

_Lips pressed in a thin line, Maura nodded. "You were gone last week."_

_Carefully, Jane nodded back. "I was." She sucked at her lower lip for a moment. "You. Um. Your NASA-juggling folds." Jane touched her own nasojugal folds with one hand, and was rewarded with a tired smile from Maura. Two months ago, Jane would have reached over to take Maura's hand and squeeze it. Today she essayed a tentative smile back at her once (and future?) best friend._

_"I saw him shot, Jane. You shot him."_

_Wincing, Jane looked down at her plate. Already her stomach felt like it wasn't going to want to keep the food. "Yeah, I did."_

_Now Maura looked away. "Why?" she asked, her voice a whisper._

_Picking up a french fry, Jane swirled it on her plate, making shapes with the ketchup. "I didn't have a lot of options, or a lot of time," she said slowly. There was a limit to how much Jane could tell Maura, especially knowing how smart she was. Her gut churned, at the need for secrecy of this subject, but also for the other, more personal, matters. "I wanted to arrest him." That was a truth that Korsak and Frost would back up. That had been their initial plan. Her own was going to come after._

_"But that didn't happen."_

_Maura's voice was so small and sad, Jane dropped the fry and took her hand. They both stared at their hands until Jane let go and shoved both of hers into her lap. "It didn't. I screwed up. I didn't_..._ I didn't take something major into account."_

_Whisking her hands back, Maura cradled the one Jane had touched, as if she was holding a baby chick. "You didn't want to shoot him?" At this, Jane shook her head, fiercely. "I don't envy you your job, Jane. If I were in your place, if it were Angela or Frank..."_

_Jane found she was staring at Maura's hands. How could she tell Maura that it would all be better when she didn't know that herself? How could she tell Maura that Patrick Doyle was alive and well, if annoying and angry? She wasn't allowed to, and the more she thought about that, the more acid whirled in her stomach. Pushing a fist into her stomach, as if that would help, Jane sighed. "I would never ask you to make that kind of call, Maura." Making a decision to 'kill' your best friend's parent wasn't easy, but it had been one of the few options left that didn't end with Doyle being really dead._

_The medical examiner's hands swiftly clenched. "That's just it, Jane. You made that call. I didn't ask you to do this for me, Jane." Each word fell like icicle shards on Jane's shoulders. "You do this, you take these actions on yourself, as if you're the only person who has an answer or a solution, with reckless disregard for how other people feel about it. You decided for everyone, without a thought for how we would take it! And —"_

_"I did think!" hissed Jane, keeping her voice lower than Maura's rising anger had been. "I thought about nothing but what this would do to you, Maura! And if I could have found any other solution, any other answer that kept him safe, I would have!"_

_Maura didn't look like she believed Jane. "Why did you ask me where you shot him?"_

_There it was. Jane sat on a precipice and knew she had only one answer to give. It was too close to the truth. "Because my shot wasn't a kill shot." With that, Jane threw Dean, and any chance of anything with him, to the wolves without a single twinge of remorse or regret. She let Maura think that the kill shot was Dean's, and frankly, Jane didn't have a single regret for it. "You need to know that. I didn't kill your..." She glanced around, not truly wary, but lowered her voice anyway. "I didn't kill him."_

_Their eyes met across the table. "I'm still mad at you, and I need to process this."_

_Quickly, Jane agreed. "You should be mad at me. I kept_..._ I kept what I was planning a secret."_

_"And you shot him."_

_"I did."_

_They looked at each other quietly for a moment. Then Maura slid out of the booth and stood up. "Promise me you'll eat something healthier for dinner. And sleep." One delicate hand rested on Jane's shoulder._

_It wasn't much, but it was giving Jane hope that there was a possibility things could be mended. "I'll have a salad."_

_Accepting this, Maura turned to go, but paused at the end of the booth. "Jane? A real salad. Not a pasta salad, or potato salad. Or egg salad. Something without a crispy shell, either. Green and leafy. And with some orange vegetables, like a carrot or a tomato." Jane didn't even try not to smile at the obnoxious list of rules, nor as Maura left the Dirty Robber._

_Progress._

"So what do you say?" asked Dean, still waiting for Jane to come out of her reverie. He'd moved closer to Jane, but had not yet dared take her hand. His, both of them, were on his own knee, palms up, ready and waiting for hers.

Jane jerked back, away from Dean, "I... no. _No._ No! _Noooooooo._" Now it was Dean who snapped back. "That ship has sailed, Dean. I'm... I'm with someone now."

He blinked a few times, uncomprehendingly. "With someone? The same someone you were with when we...?"

"No, no, someone new. Else. Someone else." To call Maura someone 'new' would be a huge lie. But she hadn't even come out to her mother, so the idea of telling Dean was just repugnant.

That stifled conversation for a moment. "But it's serious?"

"It's not your business who I date, or if it's serious." Involuntarily she twitched as the angel on her right shoulder, the good one, the one who looked more and more like Maura all the time, whispered _whom._ She ignored it. Mostly. If Dean kept this up, he was _whom _she would hit, or something else that would end just as badly. "Damn it, no means no! I don't have to explain why to you, or anyone else."

Across the room, Marshal Obrecht looked up from his phone conversation. "Hey, is everything all right?" The man started to stand up.

"We're fine, Gary," insisted Dean, making a 'please sit down' motion. "Come on, Jane, talk to me."

Jane snapped, "No, we're not fine! You're being an ass, Dean. I said no. I'm not going out with you, and for the life of me, I can't remember why thinking I _should _go out with you was a good idea in the first place."

Poor Gary Obrecht looked like a stuffed fish. He clearly wanted to be anywhere else. He did walk over towards them, however, and Jane was planning an appeal to irrelevant higher authorities (i.e. surrendering herself for answering her phone and being locked up for the rest of the day). Dean, clearly felt he still had a chance in this one, and kept pushing. "But you did. Come on, clearly there was something between us! Otherwise why would you sleep with me?"

"Oh, here we go," came her mutter as Jane ignored the beet red face of Obrecht and snarled, "Because you were _there_, Dean! I would've slept with _Doyle_ if he'd been there." A total lie, but worth it when she witnessed Dean's mortified reaction. Three points! "Okay? Look, I needed _someone_. You were handy. And I thought I could talk to you, so I did, and then you went and did exactly what I asked you _not_ to do, so we were over. We were over the second you decided to screw my trust."

"Is that it?" grasped Dean. "You're mad because I followed you when you went after Doyle?"

"I wasn't going after Doyle, you moron! I was going after the idiot fireman who tried to kill Mau- Dr. Isles!"

"Then why did you ask me to stay the hell out of the case?"

Jane took a deep breath and tried to think of an answer that wouldn't break every promise she'd sworn to make.

She was saved by Anna Farrell. "Because Dr. Maura Isles is Patrick Doyle's daughter," said Jane's new savior. The argument stopped cold and Jane exhaled in relief. There was one secret she didn't have to keep anymore. "Detective Rizzoli discovered this in the course of a previous investigation of our esteemed witness, and used her better judgement not to mention this to her superiors." Thankfully, Anna didn't give Jane a 'how could you?' sort of look. "Now, if you're all done shouting, come on in."

The most junior agent was sent off to fetch breakfast while Dean and Jane were brought up to speed. "There's a change to the deal," Rick Dale (Patrick Doyle) announced. "I want the Boston PD to solve a murder, and for that they need the best ME and she needs all the facts. She's my daughter, so she's invested in keeping me honest and off the street."

The words, Jane's own that she'd slapped Doyle with almost two years ago, hit hard. "Detectives Korsak and Frost also know you're her father," Jane managed, taking the fresh (good) coffee as soon as it appeared. "And they're my partners. I don't mind lying to my boss, but I need my partners if I'm going to get anything done."

She knew Anna wouldn't argue that at all. She'd worked with both Jane's partners, and probably still held a torch for Frost. "Fine," agreed Anna, making a note of it. "I'll give you rights to sign them in with as much information as you think they need."

"What, I'm FBI-lite now?" laughed Jane, a little punchy from the lack of sleep.

"Something like that," Anna smirked. "I'll explain the paperwork tomorrow. Are we all in agreement that Detective Rizzoli will lead the case?" Nods all around the room. Good. Jane didn't want to argue any more. "I'm remaining lead here, but we need someone posted in Boston. You think you can work with Dean without a problem, Rizzoli?"

Vomit. Double vomit. "Yes," she said through gritted teeth, privately adding a sub-clause of _So long as he stops hitting on me._

"Dean?" A moment, longer than the one Jane had taken, prefaced his nodded agreement. "All right then. You two want to work out your personal differences now, then, so we can get it over with?"

Dean looked at Jane. "I don't get it. You were willing to be with me when you were sort of seeing someone else. What's different now?"

Half-cognizant of the fact that her secret-girlfriend's biological father was right there, Jane growled, "It's serious now. I'm not 'sort of' with someone anymore, I'm _with_ with someone."

The man was stubborn, "Who?" The FBI had a really annoying idea about how life worked. Among other things, they didn't care if you were gay, so long as _they_ knew, so you couldn't be blackmailed. Or so Jane understood it. It was about candor. Be up front with who you're dating. Naturally Dean was pushing this; he'd "grown up" with the FBI mantra that everything was the Bureau's business.

"What the — Why is that _any_ of your business?"

"If it impacts the case," Dean said smugly, "we should know. Keeping secrets from your friends and family is extra pressure, and if you can't handle it, you shouldn't be on this case."

Jane snarled, "The only reason _you're_ on this case is because you couldn't do _one _thing I asked you to, as a potential girlfriend. Which is why I'm not your girlfriend and will never even consider it again."

Of course he capitalized on that. "So we were dating. You thought of me as a boyfriend."

"For maybe five minutes, but after that, you were a booty call!" snapped Jane, throwing her hands up. "First you ask me to dinner and I get dressed up _in a dress,_ and you bring takeout and beer. Actions speak. That told me what you were really after. You got it, okay? Then, when I was still half-asleep and thought for a little bit that I could talk to you, you took my personal information and used it for your job, and let me tell you, that time was the _better_ of the two times you screwed me. You're like, the worst boyfriend ever! Which is why you're _not_ my boyfriend."

Behind her, Anna snickered at the description of their date. "You know, we could have gone out, but you ran off for your friend, the doctor."

Without stopping to think, Jane charged forward. "You know what? Yes, I did! And I'd do it again. You know why? Because she's my friend! She's my best friend, she's — Oh for the love of Jesus, Mary, and the tooth fairy. I'm dating Maura, all right?" shouted Jane at the top of her lungs. "So call me whatever the hell you want, I'm a big ol' flaming," she held up her hands and waved them in mocking, jazz-handed panic, _"Gayzzoli_ for her and you can just step off, _Gabriel_, because we are _not_ getting together!"

The stunned silence gave Jane the chance to stomp out of the room and back into the hallway, abandoning her coffee and her muffin.

Three steps into the hall, the reality of what she just did hit her, as did the panic attack. _Oh my god, I just outed myself to the FBI, the US Marshals and Maura's father!_ It was suddenly hard to breath. Could someone just develop asthma out of the blue, from a great shock? Maura would know. Oh. God. Jane leaned against the wall, panting in shock, and barely heard Anna and Doyle — _Dale_ damn it, saying they'd check on her.

"You mean she's not out?" asked Dale, surprised. "I thought for sure... I mean, you've seen 'em together, right?"

"I don't even think they were dating when I met them, or she'd never had slept with Dean," Anna replied matter-of-factly.

They were not helping. "Dyin' here," gasped Jane, and Anna chuckled. With a bit of effort, Anna steered Jane to a seat and helped Jane put her head between her legs. Okay, they were actually helping now. Jane was able to inhale, though the giant gulps made her sound, ironically, like the asthmatic to which she'd mentally compared herself, coughing and wheezing and unable to do anything but silently plead to the universe for just one real, useful lungful as she freaked the _fuck _right out.

"I'm just saying," continued Dale/Doyle. "If they weren't dating, I think they were the only ones who didn't know it." There was no response from Anna that Jane could tell, so she gave Doyle a one-finger salute. "Nice, that's how you talk me now?"

Jane took a deep, shaky, breath. "That's how I always talked to you." Okay, oxygen was running through her brain again. This was a good thing. "I'm in love with her."

Disparagingly, Doyle snorted. "I knew _that_."

Jane found herself resisting, barely, the urge to pop Doyle one, right in his nose. "Really! _Really!_" she yelped. "Did everyone know that except me!"

It was the cool peanut gallery commentary by Anna that brought the world back to normal. "You and Dean, probably."

The feeling started in waves, and within seconds, Jane was gasping for breath again. This time it was with laughter, and it was shared with Doyle. "Oh, God. Did I screw all this up?" asked Jane, finding her voice after several long minutes of titters.

Anna, who had not been immune to the jollies, wiped her face. "What? By dating the daughter — _biological _daughter of a guy in WitSec? And faking his death? Honey, I don't even know how you managed to get her to go out with you in the first place after all that!" An expert of many methods of silent commentary, Jane chose to roll her eyes at the young FBI agent. Anna chuckled once more. "You mean, did you screw up the case? Actually, no. It's easier when all members of a relationship share secrets like this. That's why the CIA pretty much mandates you only date inside the Company."

Which meant all Jane had to do, when she got home, was apologize the hell out of the situation to Maura and then cajole her into coming to the local FBI office. "Yaaaay," Jane said weakly. So much fun to look forward to.

* * *

><p>Though she had discretion about which medical examiner performed which autopsies, the fact was, the BPD medical examiner's lab had a constant backlog of cases to address. Finally impatient enough to do something about it, she had ordered each assistant examiner to take on one extra autopsy per week. It meant overtime, but they had to clear some of the bodies. Her missive had indicated that she wanted the backlog reduced to nil by summertime. For her, that meant taking on a few for which even she would have (almost) been willing to state cause of death on the spot.<p>

At the moment, therefore, she was following her own orders. Unable to return to sleep, she had come into the office at five o'clock in the morning and begun her weekly 'extra.' It was a man who, according to the detectives who had processed the scene, had tried to smuggle himself into the US by hiding in an airplane's landing gear. He had fallen out when the gear came down, preparatory to landing. There was no identification with or near the body, no information. John Doe — or as some thorough smartass had dubbed him, Jean Deaux, given that he'd come from a flight that had entered the US through Côte d'Ivoire — had been dead on impact.

After careful examination of the body, Maura was just about to declare him a victim of hypothermia, when suddenly her phone started playing The Who's _Who Are You?_, the ringtone reserved for strangers. She stepped away from the stainless steel table and its fleshy burden, peeled away one purple glove, and answered. "Dr. Isles?" Drat. Her voice was hoarse from lack of sleep. Well, maybe the caller wouldn't notice.

The connection had the slightly tinny sound of an old landline. "Hey, doc," came a familiar voice that sounded just as tired as her own. Caution colored Jane Rizzoli's warm voice, as much as the exhaustion that dribbled down the line. "You busy?"

Immediately Maura's voice warmed; she was tired enough to forget that they'd fought, for just long enough. "Not for you. Jean Deaux will wait."

Jane's replying laugh was soothing. "I won't even ask. Hang on a sec..." There was the sound of a door closing. "There. That's better, I'm so tired of looking at... certain people. God, I miss you. You okay? Ma got a hold of me last night, and you kind of sound like you need a nap."

It made Maura blush to catch herself nodding, as if that would communicate anything to the lover who-knew-how-many miles away. "I'm tired," she admitted, no longer trying to disguise the effects of prolonged fatigue in her voice. "I didn't get a lot of sleep last night, so I've been here since about five. I thought I'd at least get some work done, as long as I was going to be awake. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't have gotten to sleep. I'm sorry your mother bothered you on..." But even tired, her mind didn't stop working, it only worked a tad slower. "How did Angela get in touch with you, when I can't?"

"I was up anyway," admitted Jane, though she sounded a little perplexed herself. "I don't know why they forwarded Ma through. They're not supposed to, and now I don't have my phone at all, though, so you can blame her for that." With an explosive sigh, Jane went on. "I think someone's new at dispatch and is afraid of her. Just one more damn thing I've got to follow up on when I get back."

The logical follow-up to that was for Maura to ask the obvious, "When do you think that will be?"

Jane hesitated and there was the sound of typing. "Today, I think. Maybe tomorrow. I'm almost done, but the weather looks like crap. Is it still snowing there?" The implication was that Jane was nowhere near Boston, to know what the weather was like; also that she probably didn't have access to radio, television, or internet. That left more than half of the contiguous United States at this moment in time, and was entirely unhelpful.

"It was when I left home this morning," replied the woman who worked in an area with no outside windows. "We got another four inches overnight. It's supposed to warm up even more later, though. I hear there will be rain. Maybe it'll wash away some of the snow and we'll see the sidewalks again. Joe would appreciate that." She paused, wanting to ask if it was warmer where Jane was, if Jane was wearing a coat, getting a tan, skiing to and from the hotel or ice skating down a river to get to wherever the local headquarters was for whatever agency was sponsoring these jaunty little gallivants. She couldn't, or rather, if she did, it would start another argument. By now her memories had caught up to her mouth, and she remembered that they were supposed to be tense with one another.

Well, too bad. She was tired enough to be unable to sustain that kind of thing. "I wanted to say thank you, Jane."

"You're welcome," Jane replied right away. Then asked, "What did I do right?"

"Angela called Daniel. She wouldn't have called Daniel without you telling her to do it, so thank you. Speaking with him was... well, kind of helpful. Calming." It wasn't all of the truth. They'd spoken, yes. In her living room. The helpfulness hadn't been in chasing away her nightmares, but in the realm of waking concerns. Still.

And then she couldn't quite bring herself to not tell Jane the rest of the truth, after all. "He came over."

_"Ow! Damn!" Maura's voice echoed throughout the ground floor of her house, shortly preceded by the sound of a scuffle, a muted thud, a crash, and a rustle. Her normally pleasantly modulated voice held a harsh, serrated edge of irritation. "Would you _please_ put away your boots when you come inside? I've asked you!"_

_"What?" asked Jane as she headed in for her customary kiss hello which, she quickly sensed, might be a bit delayed. Maura was slumped against the still-open door frame, clutching one knee, as two grocery sacks spilled its contents, including something slimy enough to be broken eggs, in the entryway. "Oh. Yeah," she said, momentarily guilted into actually putting her boots into the closet. "I just, you know, I'm on call tonight, and I figured I should have them handy."_

_Maura gritted her teeth and tried flexing and bending her knee again. "Well, they're sure handy," she allowed through her instant grudge. "Would you pick up the groceries? I want to do it, but I'm not sure I can hold them all." Her tone was laced with accusation, though she did not further allude to the placement of her girlfriend's footwear._

_Jane sighed and bent to pick up, first, the clean groceries and put them on the counter, before coming back with dishtowels. "Joe, nuh uh! Place!" Jane snapped her fingers and pointed, firmly, at Joe's comfy bed. The last thing Jane needed was for Joe to lick up the eggs and upset Maura further. "Go to your place. Good dog." Carefully Jane picked up the slimy bag, getting one hand underneath to support it for the inevitable disintegration of wet paper. "I got 'em, Maura. Go sit down."_

_Grateful, but still too irritated to say so or show it, the smaller woman hauled herself to her feet and limped over to the couch, where she let herself fall in a heap that was unfairly elegant, considering the purpling already starting to show on her knee. "I didn't even see them," she said, as if the thing about the shoes wasn't over yet. "I had both arms full of bags." Joe Friday risked leaving her designated place, her padded doggie bed, and trotted over to leap up beside Maura and shed on her skirt. Maura couldn't be upset at that, as it was a show of affection, so she patted the furry little head and seethed towards Jane a little more. "And what happened to our lunch date?"_

_Not facing Maura, all that could be seen of the detective was a stiffening of her spine. "I told you, I was having lunch with Casey. You wanted to go out to dinner tonight." Not entirely under her breath, Jane added, "Which is probably not gonna happen now." She paused, in her redistribution of groceries, to fetch an ice-pack from the freezer for Maura. "He says hi, by the way," added Jane, not entirely cognizant of the impact mentioning her ex-non-boyfriend might have on her secret girlfriend._

_"You had dinner with him last night," Maura pointed out. "That wasn't enough for him? And then stayed away all night, too." There was no need to actually state aloud the natural progression of her thoughts. Dinner with the ex, lunch with the ex, a night apart from her current girlfriend in the middle? Even a meter reader could have followed that logic trail._

_Shocked, Jane almost dropped the ice pack. "I didn't sleep with Casey, Maura!" Impulse might have been to throw the ice pack at her girlfriend, but instead Jane tossed it onto the empty side of the couch and went back to the groceries. "We had to cut dinner short when Korsak got a lead on the Clayton case, so we had a quick lunch, then he took a cab back to the airport. What's wrong with hanging out with a friend I never get to see anymore anyway?"_

_Though she caught the ice pack, Maura's eyes widened as though she hadn't even noticed it. "What's wrong with having dinner with an ex? Well, I don't know, you tell me. You don't even like it when I call Father Brophy in to console a Catholic couple when they've just identified the body of their child." She referred to a case not even two weeks prior, in which Maura had sent Brophy off with the couple in question, then sat down in her office to cry. The child's body had been damaged almost beyond recognition, but she had been the one to have to write down every atrocity that was committed upon it — including those she had committed herself, with her scalpel and tweezers and combs and other evidence-gathering tools — and sew it back up. The face was untouched. The parents had viewed that angelic little face, with its dark curly hair, tiny button nose, the gap in its two front teeth. Only Maura had known what lay under the sheet. That tiny, mangled body was not a hardened criminal, not an elderly person who'd had a life, but a three year old._

_Once the parents were comforted enough to get them to their own priest under their own power, Brophy had come to her office to proffer, not the comfort of prayer from a priest, but a shoulder of a friend; and that was how Jane had found them. Again. And flipped her lid, again._

_"You don't like that I work with Danny," Maura reminded her, "even though you know why sometimes I need to see someone and you're not there. You know how those cases make me feel. It's the furthest thing from celebratory, or pleasant at all. Nothing could be less conducive to... to impropriety than those situations, and you still object. Why is it different, when you put on a sexy dress and go out to dinner with the one that got away?"_

_Jane spluttered. "I did not put on a sexy dress! I was dressed for court, and besides, it's not like I ever actually _slept_ with Casey." And there it was again, the crux of Jane's distaste for Daniel Brophy. Maura had slept with him. "And Casey knows that ship has sailed so far, Maura, it's never coming back! He was the Bermuda Triangle of dates anyway." Implied was that was not so of Maura and Brophy. "And I sure as hell didn't hug all over him."_

_"All over...?" Maura sputtered, unable to even finish a sentence. "Jane, that relationship was _all over_ a long time ago. We're friends now. Only friends. You know how few of those I have. Real ones, anyway. Do you really want me to give that up? Do you? Because I will, if that's the way you need to be reassured, but I think it's ridiculous. Danny takes his vows seriously, and he always has. So do I. The... whatever... that we had is over now." That was new. She'd told Jane whatever Jane wanted to know, but she'd wanted to know precious little. "Daniel... it was destroying him, being with me. And in the middle of the work day, right in the office? You think either of us would — Jane, think! He's recommitted himself firmly to his calling, and _I_ ended it with _him. _You have nothing to fear, especially when I'm fresh from showing a couple their dead toddler!"_

_That didn't help. "Oh, oh _you_ broke it off with Danny-Boy," snarled Jane. "See? That's the point! You broke it off! He broke his vows for you! How can I trust _him_?" Jane threw the dishcloth into a hamper with ferocity. "You know what? Fine! I won't see _any_ of my ex boyfriends or my male friends unless you're okay with it. Is that better?"_

_"No!" Maura howled, partly at the idea and partly because she was trying to flex her knee again. It was swelling. "I'm not trying to cut you off from the entirety of every aspect of your life that isn't me. I just want you give your exes a reason to know it's over with them, just like Daniel has multiple reasons to know it's over between him and me!"_

_Angry as she was, Jane was far too familiar with the feeling of banged body parts to ignore a friend, even an angry girlfriend, in pain. She stomped over and, with gentle hands in complete contrast to her attitude, helped slide a pillow under Maura's leg and put the icepack back on it. "Stop movin' that," she grumbled. "And how? You want to make out in front of Casey? I told him it was over, and he said okay! We didn't go out as a date, we went out as friends! Why is this so hard to believe?"_

_"Because he's come back from Afghanistan more than once just to see you," Maura shot back even while shifting to accommodate Jane's motions, "just like Dean. And if you'll recall, you were seeing Casey when you and Dean —"_

_Jane's hands flew into the air, "Really?" She shook her head, "I was 'seeing' Casey." The airquotes were bold and obvious. She then shook one (index) finger in Maura's direction, "And Dean was a colossal mistake on so many levels. So was Casey! I told you, I have my rules, and every time I think oh, it's okay to break one, it ends badly! No PDA at work, look where that got me with Casey, huh? And — And besides, you totally wanted me to sleep with them!"_

_"That's not true," Maura replied, voice quieter, but no less intense. "I thought you'd enjoy it. I thought you'd benefit from it. _I_ didn't want it. I knew _you_ wanted it, and I just wanted you to be happy and satisfied." She huffed with the exertion of arguing through the pain in her knee. "But that's not my point! My point is, you were seeing Casey, or at least, he thought you were. You slept with Dean. Now you're seeing me, or at least I think you are —"_

_Jane didn't even need her voice to cut Maura off this time. Just a raised eyebrow and arms crossed over her chest. "Really?" she asked when her implicit suggestion of silence had been taken._

_"Really," Maura affirmed. "The only person who knows I'm in your life is a priest sworn to secrecy. It's like I don't even exist, the moment we're not alone together. Your mother still sets you up on blind dates, because you won't tell her you're with me. Your brothers have friends who are interested in you, and instead of saying you're not interested in them, you say you're too busy, or that they're turning into your mother. Our coworkers and friends don't know. Human Resources doesn't know. You won't even let me tell my own family. After what breaking up with Daniel did to me, I told myself I'd never be anyone's nasty little secret again, but here I am, sneaking around like your dirty mistress!"_

_Her hands fell into her lap and Jane looked shocked and horrified. "I — I'm not ashamed of you, Maura!" _

_"Don't tell me. Show me."_

_It was like Jane had been slapped. She couldn't muster any real explanation for things, except ones that sounded like excuses. "It's not, God this sounds stupid, but it's not you. It's me. I don't — I'm not ready to tell them all yet. I'm sorry, but I'm just not." Jane looked away, at Joe, who was no longer camped out on Maura's lap, but still trying to be comforting, and then at Maura's knee. She lifted up the icepack and regarded Maura's knee carefully. "I'm going to get an ace bandage, Maura," she said quietly, all the fight knocked out of her. "Do you want me to help you get to the shower?"_

_"No," Maura replied petulantly, swinging her unhurt leg off the sofa and attempting to stand on her own. It didn't work well at all. More petulantly she decided, "Yes. But I'm still mad at you, and I don't _want_ to need your help."_

_Jane sighed, looping one arm around Maura to help her limp to the master bedroom. "I know," she said, without arguing. "I am sorry. And I do love you." _

_That wasn't the point, and they both knew it._

Of all the things Jane could have sounded, she did not sound surprised that Daniel Brophy had come to Maura's — their — home. "I figured he would." In fact, she didn't sound bothered at all that Maura's ex had gone over. She did, however, seem a little reluctant to get into more detail about it. "I... I knew he was someone you could talk to about the whole thing. I knew he'd understand enough to not be all Father Snarky McJudgey on us." A pause, no longer than a heartbeat. "I wish I'd been there." Jane's voice was softer, smaller now. Apologetic. "I wanted to be there. It's not fair of me, making you so alone like that, and I'm really, really sorry."

Amazed anew at the big-heartedness of the woman at the other end of the telephone connection, Maura sniffled. Jane knew that she had history with Daniel Brophy. Serious history. Knew that Maura still had love for him. Yet she'd purposefully sent him to comfort Maura in the middle of the night. She had to have known Angela wouldn't stay there to chaperone them and inhibit Maura from whatever she would have said to a priest that she couldn't say to her best friend's mother, also a friend. The trust her girlfriend now bore her was momentarily staggering. Maura reached out a hand to brace herself against the medical waste disposal box on the wall. "You can't help it," she said quietly, and then even more quietly, "I miss you."

"I love you," Jane said, simply, directly. "And I—" Jane stopped abruptly, with the sound of a door opening and a male voice Maura did not recognize announcing 'Cut it short, Rizzoli. You're up.' With a grumble, Jane replied in the affirmative. "I'm sorry — I am saying that _way _too much, Maura. I have to go back in. I love you, I miss you too, and I'll call you as soon as I can, okay?"

"I'll be waiting," Maura promised. "Just... come over. Please. I'll go to your place and pick up some more of your things for you, if you'll just come."

Something plastic was closed. "I think all my clean clothes are at your place anyway, sweetie. Try to get some sleep, and I'll come to your place, all stinky and airplane smelly." Jane was laughing a little, but the assurance in her voice was sincere. "I'll be there. Promise. I love you," she repeated and hung up the phone, just as the male voice shouted 'Rizzoli!' again.

"Love you too," Maura whispered into the phone, even though she knew Jane couldn't hear, and went to blow her nose and wash her hands again before resuming her work on Jean Deaux.

* * *

><p><strong>Jane's a big old flaming Gayzzoli for Maura, and there will be no more sleeping with Dean. Ever. Thank us with reviews.<strong>


	4. There Ain't a Reason the ME Should Be

**Chapter Four — There Ain't a Reason the ME Should Be Alone**

At least the snow had stopped. Jane hunched in her wool coat, watching the plow remove inches of the wet, slushy, heavy stuff. The cold air was a relief after almost a week of oppressive humidity. "You sure we can't share a cab?" asked Gabriel Dean, a unlit cigarette dangling from his lips unattractively. Then again, he did everything unattractively.

"I'm sure, Dean." She sat on her suitcase. "My ride's coming, and we're not going your way."

Dean hesitated. "Listen I just—"

"No. Nuh uh, Dean. Go get a cab to your nice little hotel room and get drunk. I'm going home, and I really don't want to talk to you any more today." Five hours on what was supposed to be a three-hour jaunt, with enough circling to make any carnival goer puke, was enough. The plane was filled with delayed vacationing refugees, trying to get back home before Christmas, so she hadn't been able to get switched to another seat far away from the man.

He coughed, a little embarrassed. "I was going to say come by the offices after lunch. You're probably as tired as I am."

Jane glanced at Dean, looking for more meaning in that offer. Finding none, she agreed, and watched him leave. "Come on, Ma, I'm freezing," she muttered, turning to look back at the trickling line of cars. Already she was tired of being cold, though not enough to miss humidity.

Seconds later, her mother showed up. The racing stripes on the car brought a smile to Jane's face, and she quickly tossed her suitcase into the back. "Was that your FBI guy?" asked Angela through her open window, pointing down at the line of cabs.

"He's not mine, Ma. I ran into him in the airport."

"He's cute," Angela noted, then paused. "Well. He looks like he kind of used to be, sometime. Anyway, you want to stop off at a diner for a bite, or just go back to your place?" Already she was unlocking the passenger side by leaning over the center console. The one that lined right up with that snazzy (idiotic) red racing stripe down the middle. Giovanni was a good boy, she reflected, but his taste level left something to be desired. At least he had good manners, though. Too rare, in that generation, and it was probably only going to get worse with the upcoming ones.

Jane gave her mother a skeptical look. "Uh. Actually, can we go to Maura's? I'm not hungry." The flight attendant, while unable to swap Jane's seat, did slip her extra peanuts. Not to mention the two hour delay before they took off meant a nice dinner at the in-airport Chili's on the FBI's dime. Jane buckled up and exhaled, trying to will her body into a state of relaxation and courage.

Despite ostensibly paying attention to the route out of the airport and back towards the city proper, heading west, the general direction of Maura's home, the elder Rizzoli woman took a sneaky glance at her daughter, who was preoccupied with the lights that illuminated the tunnel from the airport. "Suit yourself," she agreed. "Makes it easier for me, anyway, since I've got to wind up there anyhow." A good ten minutes or so went by before she asked, "You got enough to wear? Need to stop off at home for anything?"

"All my clean stuff's at Maura's anyway, Ma," sighed Jane. The drive was slow going as they followed the plows down I-90. Normally she'd have suggested another route, but at least the tollroad would be plowed today. "Did she get... Is she doing okay, Ma?"

Angela's shoulder lifted and lowered in a very European shrug, the way her mother's had, and her grandmother's, great-grandmother's, and anyone else who would normally follow it up with _don't worry about me, I'll just sit here in the dark alone._ "Eh. Last night was really bad," she allowed, "but tonight she was in bed by eight-thirty, and I haven't heard anything yet. You should check on her when you get in." She put on her turn signal; somehow she'd gotten herself into a turn lane, and now wouldn't you know it, someone was coming up on her right and she couldn't get over where she was supposed to be. "Look at that," she muttered, slowing way down to let the trucker go barreling past, and then went over one lane. "Not one more car on the road but me, and somehow he thinks he's got to screw me over to get where he's going. _There's enough road for everybody, jerk!"_

Jane laughed softly at her mother's antics. "Pretty empty after midnight. Kind of peaceful. Makes you forget there are evil people out there." Turning away from her mother for a moment, Jane swallowed. "Ma," she started in a quiet voice. "It's my fault Maura's been having nightmares." Unlike earlier that day (or really, the day before, but only by a couple minutes), this time Jane was choosing her words carefully and not letting her emotions get the better of her. "We had a fight, and then I went out of town. And I'm not there for her when she needs me all the time."

"Did you do the thing that gives her the nightmares?" Angela wondered, unaware that in fact, Jane _had _done... some of it. Or been there. Or been integral to the incidents. But apparently she intended the question to be rhetorical, and as she was driving, missed her daughter's guilty wince. "Look, you can't be there for somebody all the time. Even if you want to be, it's not possible. You have to just do your best, and say sorry when you mean it."

Now was not the time to explain the whole Hoyt thing. More than likely, Angela would catch on to how stressful Jane's birthday had been that year. Nope, not gonna go there. And now was not the time to avoid the subject. Jane took a deep breath. "Yeah, but a — I'm supposed to be there for my girlfriend, Ma." She glanced at her mother. "I'm in love with Maura, Ma."

The car lurched forward as Angela slammed both feet onto the brakes, and Jane's hands slapped the dash to brace herself for an impact that never came. The one car on the road within a mile honked and drove around as Angela shouted at Jane, "You must think I'm some kind of idiot!"

Jane froze, eyes locked on the road ahead.

"You stay over at Maura's about four nights a week," Angela continued, less forcefully but not less loudly. "Do you think I don't know she's at your place at least one of the other three nights? You think I can't count the number of dinner dishes in the sink and the dishwasher when I go to get my breakfast? You think I don't see all your clothes in the wash when I go to the main house to do my laundry? I bet you think I don't even know what those sheets smell like, young lady."

Jane turned white, then red, as Angela pulled over to the side of the road and started shaking her finger. "You think I don't see the shadows on the shades in her room? I can tell the difference between long hair and short, Janie, and between a visitor with boobs and a visitor without them. And let's not even talk about some of the _other_ stuff I've seen outlines of." Jane went white again; she'd known those objects would get her into trouble one day. "And the way you look at each other! It's like she's all your birthday cakes rolled into one, and you can't wait to get some of that frosting. A mother knows, Janie! I can't believe you make that poor girl hide like that. Especially when you're not any good at lying! Sleepovers, my eye. You are _not subtle, _Jane Rizzoli!"

Her mouth hung open in abject shock at her mother. Jane found she could excuse her mother's spying, and her chastising, because of the most important fact: her mother _wasn't_ telling her she was going to hell. "That's why I'm telling you, Ma," Jane managed, her voice still small and quiet. She turned in her seat to look at Angela, "I'm sorry I lied to you, and I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I wasn't ready. I was really scared about what everyone'd say and think and... I'm not making an excuse, Ma, I'm just explaining. I can't make up for making Maura hide us for a year, but I can do better. I'm trying like you don't _know, _Ma."

This was the story of Jane's life, though. Any time she'd wanted something badly enough, she'd had to lie about it and hide it from her family.

_When Jane was twelve, she knew she wanted to be a cop. They'd had a stupid career day, and Joe Grant (then called Joey) had thrown spitballs at her all day. First they'd seen a fireman, then a nurse, then a teacher, and finally a cop. Everyone had seen cops before, last year they'd dragged out some ancient Officer Friendly. But this year, this year everyone in the entire class shut up the second the officer walked into the room._

_Officer Sally Gribbs._

_A female cop._

_Never before had a woman in Jane's life commanded such attention and power. Here was the answer to the elusive secrets her mother hinted at with regards to female power. It wasn't beauty, or grace, or even getting a man. It was standing right there, with a gun and an attitude. For a tough Italian girl from Revere, a girl who hated humiliation above failure, the idea that she could be someone behind that badge was more than attractive._

_When she announced it that night at dinner, Frankie had jumped up to say him too, and their parents ignored it. Being a cop was a phase Janie would go through, like Tommy wanting to be an astronaut, or Frankie (last week) wanting to be cowboy. She'd get over it and forget it and be a wife, just like Angela. Except she never did. Jane grabbed hold of the dream and used it to shape her life._

_Within a year, she shed the epithets 'Roly Poly Rizzoli' and 'Frog Face,' and got more people, more new people, in the school to call her 'Punisher.' She played sports, she worked harder in her classes, and she never let anyone stop her. Hell, Jane Rizzoli even got into BCU. What she didn't get was a scholarship, so it was crappy community college for her and then, horror of horrors, she signed up for the police academy._

_Wisely, Jane had moved out, into a crappy apartment she shared with two other girls in her college, when she'd signed up to be a Police Cadet. She wasn't a 'real' cop, but the three years she spent working there, and going to school for a grounding in the law, gave her a leg up on any other applicants. Cadets were picked second, after legacies, if too many people applied for BPD. Jane had never wanted to be a lawyer, but she had to admit the intro classes were interesting. For three years, though, she never told her parents what her 'part-time' job was. She just told them she didn't need them to pay for classes, or her rent, and it probably would have been fine if it hadn't been for a baseball game._

_She'd just been directing traffic after the Red Sox/Yankees game, when her mother's shrill voice pierced the late afternoon heat. "Janie! What are you doing?"_

_Of course. "Working, Ma, we'll talk later."_

_"Later? You want to explain why you're dressed like a cop?"_

_Horns honked and some people were shouting, "Ma! You're holding up traffic, come on."_

_Her father had helped usher the family along, but that Sunday, dinner was an explosion. Angela Rizzoli was not happy to find out her daughter had kept this secret for three years, that she was wasting her college career, that Jane was risking her life. It was the most uncomfortable dinner they'd ever had._

_"You're going to get shot and killed," insisted Angela, slapping potatoes onto Jane's plate._

_As Jane scooped up half her potatoes and put them on Tommy's plate, she explained, "I will not, Ma. It's not as dangerous as those Kellerman books you read make it out to be." With a measure of delight, Jane watched her mother blush over the public recognition of her guilty pleasure. The Kellerman books, Faye or Jonathan, were more about fantastical situations than actual crimes. Sensationalist mystery, and not even good ones at that. Angela and Carla Talucci loved them, probably for the smut, if they were the ones Jane was thinking about. "Besides, more people die in car accidents."_

_With a splat, too many slices of roast hit Jane's plate, and no greens. "So why didn't you tell us before? Huh? You're ashamed, that's why!" Her brothers and father hid their faces and ate, Frankie snagging some of Jane's extra meat while Jane reached for the vegetables. "Frankie, stop eating Janie's food! Janie, don't reach across the table."_

_"Come on, Ma! Stop giving me so much fatty food! Pass the salad, Pop?" Silently, Frank Sr. handed the salad over, and Jane piled some on. "I didn't tell you because I knew you'd just yell at me. Ma, I really want to do this." Jane made sure not to raise her voice, in part because her mother told her not to shout so much (it wasn't feminine), but more because she felt being calm would help her case._

_"You don't even know what you're really getting into," cried Angela._

_"Does anyone, Ma? Come on, did you know this would be your life when you married Pop? Nobody knows what's next, but I want to do this." _

_It was so hard to explain to her mother that Jane felt like the forgotten child so often. Overshadowed by her younger brothers, who got the majority of their parent's positive attention. Jane knew her parents loved her, that was never in doubt, but it always felt like they wanted her to be something else, an invisible woman in an invisible job. Buried alive and never listened to, without identity. What Jane wanted was to be noticed, to be known and respected for being something bigger than just a woman, more than just that one thing._

_And the more she worked as a cadet, the more she worked when she joined the force officially, just a few months after her fight with Angela, the more Jane got angry. The anger was fuel to her fiery passion to do this. She couldn't stand back and watch people be discounted or ignored for any reason, and that led her to be their advocate, as a patrol officer, in vice, and later as a detective in homicide._

_She grew strong, more assertive (much to Angela's dismay). She stopped kowtowing to the way girls were supposed to be, and was independent. She even remembered, clearly, the last time anyone in BPD called her a nickname._

_Joe Grant bounced into patrol as Jane was getting the morning announcement ready. It was her turn, her first turn, to give the morning's announcement. Nervous and excited, she'd agonized over it all night, and gotten in early. And here was Joey. "Hey, it's Roly Poly—" _

_"Stop it right there, Grant," she'd snapped with such ferocity that Joe did come to an abrupt halt. "I don't ever want to hear you call me that again. In fact, I want you to make it your personal mission to assure me that I never hear Roly Poly, Frog Face, or any other nickname you've ever heard me called, ever, from any police officer."_

_For a second, Grant was terrified, but then he smirked. "Or what, Rizzoli?"_

_Jane lowered her voice. "Five letters, Joey. Five letters." He looked bewildered. "N. K. O. T. B."_

_Now Joe Grant turned white as a sheet. "You said you threw that tape out!"_

_Jane took great pleasure in hissing, "I _lied._ Now you do it, or I bring it in and play it next time I do morning announcements. Capisce?" She still used that horror-filled expression Joe wore to keep her warm at night._

The rush of memory came to a halt when Angela added, apropos of nothing, "By the way, you should close the windows tonight."

"Nah, it's still warm," Jane said absently, still not quite having gotten her feet under herself, so to speak. "Maura likes the fresh air. I mean, um... Well, okay, no, that's exactly what I mean." Jane regarded her mother curiously, cheered momentarily by the buoyant feeling of being able to tell her mother that Maura liked _their_ window open. Why didn't anyone tell her how great it felt to be out? "Why do you care if we have the window open?" We! She got to say _we!_

Angela lifted her chin and smiled as she eased back onto the road, anticipating the fun she was about to have, _finally,_ at her daughter's expense. "Because Maura's bedroom window faces my bedroom window. I can hear her." And now for the _coup de grâce_. Angela had been saving up for an occasion to deliver it. "You know, if you really didn't want to be out before, you might have wanted to see if she could avoid saying your name."

Had there been anything in Jane's mouth, she would have spit it out on her mother's dashboard. Instead, she choked on her own tongue and barely managed a high-pitched squeal of "Oh my _Gaaaaaaaahd,"_ before shrinking in her seat. Angela's cackle accompanied them all the way home.

* * *

><p>Jane slipped into the house quietly. It was too late at night (or early in the morning? What was midnight anyway?) to consider waking up Maura to talk right now. There was a routine to be followed as soon as she'd removed coat and shoes, a routine that she had devised over the last umpteen years of her life, wherever she slept. First she checked the windows and locks, the security system, and the stove. She looked at the furniture, assuring everything was in its place. Jane checked the dishwasher, so all the dishes would be clean in the morning, and the water and food dishes for the pets. Being December, Bass and Jane's little tortoise were hibernating, so she checked that the temperature was correct before finding Joe curled up in her bed nearby the door to the tortoise den, as if guarding the reptiles. Then, finally, Jane made her way to the bedroom where Maura was sound asleep.<p>

Curled up into as compact a form as possible, Maura faced away from Jane's side of the bed, and her face was scrunched up in serious dreaming thought. _I wonder if you dream of science,_ mused Jane as she quietly checked the closets and under the bed for boogie men. She followed the same routine at her own apartment, and Maura had never made commentary on it, simply watching Jane go through her process.

Not wanting to wake up Maura, Jane put her gun in the drawer, but not her lock-box yet. Technically it was against policy, but Maura looked like she could use the sleep, and the sound of the box locking always woke her up. Jane also didn't attempt to unpack, just abandoning her suitcase by the door and dumping her smelly travel clothes in the hamper. She could deal with the rest later, and with a measure of her regard for Maura's need to sleep, Jane went into the bathroom and closed the door before turning on the light.

From the sound of things, Maura slept through it all, and Jane went to take advantage of the sybaritic bathroom. Just over a year of kinda-sorta living with Maura had created other changes in Jane's ablutions. First was using words like 'sybaritic' and 'ablution,' but also was paying greater attention to exfoliating, moisturizing, and shaving even on days you pretty much knew there wouldn't be sex, because being sexy for your girlfriend was nice. Using Maura's froofy, fruity smelling body scrub was nice for Jane too, though she'd never admit it. The smell was comforting, and reminded Jane of Maura all day long.

The water was having a good effect on Jane, relaxing the tension brought on by a cramped flight in steerage. You'd think that WitSec would spring for something better than JetBlue and their crappy peanuts, or at least something where Jane could stretch her legs out. Not to mention that it'd been an hour in the car with Dean (who wanted to share a ride to the airport) and then what the GPS swore was a 30 minute drive to Brookline turned out to be another hour with her mother.

No, no, no. Now was not the time to get all tense. Jane washed the shampoo out of her hair, conditioned, and let the wall jets of the shower pummel away her stress. God, that was nearly as nice as Maura's massages. It was as she was washing the conditioner out that she started to drift off. Absently, quietly listening to the sounds of the house and zoning out just a little, Jane was finally, really, relaxing.

Maura's shrill shriek shattered the night. _"Jane! No!"_

The shout snapped Jane out of her shower-induced drowse. Forgetting everything, including her attire, Jane slapped the water off. Slipping on the tiles, she banged her hip, hard, on the shower wall before running out to the bedroom. For once, she was glad she hadn't locked her gun away. Snatching the Glock up on a dead run she took up a shooter's stance at the foot of the bed.

"Maura! Get behind me. Where is he?" She carefully swung her gun side to side, looking for an intruder.

"Jane?" asked a bewildered Maura. "Is... Huh?"

"It's okay, I'm here. Where is he? Or... whatever it was." Every nerve in Jane's body was fired up. Fight or flight had kicked in, and she was ready to take down a charging rhino.

The reply behind her was like being doused with cold water. "It was a dream," Maura said, her voice small.

The water from Jane's hair dripped down her back and she was, abruptly, aware that she was standing in the bedroom, bare-assed naked, with a gun. "Well. This is a little embarrassing," muttered Jane, lowering the gun. Once her heart rate returned to normal, she turned on her nightstand light, ejected the clip and locked her gun away. Then she sat on the edge of the bed and studied Maura, who blinked in the sudden light and studied her in return.

"Welcome home," said the woman on the bed, soaking in her own sweat, voice weak in acknowledgement of the awkwardness of the moment. "Thank you for waking me up out of that."

"That was waking you up out of it?" Jane pushed her dripping hair out of her face. "You know what, this is stupid. It's not like we're not gonna change the sheets in a minute anyway." And with that, Jane scooted in and wrapped her arms around Maura, hauling her in for a fairly wet hug.

Though she didn't expect to, Maura held Jane tightly enough to give away the exact strength of the nightmares in which she had been trapped. "Oh, Jane," she sighed in relief, "I'm so glad you're back. Even though you're all wet and will probably get cold." She sat back, keeping her arms loosely around her lover. "Why don't you finish drying off, and I'm going to get a shower. I feel clammy." Nightmare sweat just didn't feel right. She'd been overheated with too much blanket and too much thrashing. One kiss for Jane's shoulder, and then Maura stood, sheets dragging a bit as she freed herself from them. On the way to the shower, she cracked the window, hoping to let some of those dreams just leave, and take the smell of fear with them. "Be right back."

"Keep the door open, will you?" asked Jane, following for a moment to collect her towel and erect a monument out of her hair. "I'll fix the sheets while you're in there." Blanket and top sheet were ruthlessly ripped off the bed as Maura turned on the shower, and Jane thought a second too late, "Oh crap, Maura I was using opera setting!" The reference was to a commercial for the luxury/spa setting in the shower, with jets blasting from spouts in the walls and ceiling. In the commercial, the installation man was 'testing' the shower and practicing the most improbable operatic aria (by a soprano; he was lip synching, but after all, if you can't lip synch in the shower, when can you?).

The answering yelp of, "AACK! Yes you were!" was followed by the beeping of Maura changing the shower's program.

Jane couldn't help the smile on her face. "Sorry." She paused, looking at the sheets. _Change 'em now, or change 'em after sex? God, I don't know which is worse. Yes I do._ And with that, she stripped the bed completely, even the duvet cover, and pulled out the next set in the rotation. Jane also took a glance at Maura in the shower and closed the bedroom window. "Can I come in?"

"Always," Maura replied, wet through but finally smiling, as the water jets and Jane's presence combined to relax her. "But you are slightly overdressed for the occasion, unless you actually plan to put on pajamas and go to sleep right now. Which," she added as she massaged shampoo into her scalp, "you'd better not."

Undoing her hair monument, Jane picked up the bottle of leave-in conditioner, "I was actually thinking maybe I should stop my hair from attacking you." In doing so, however, Jane's newly bruised hip was aimed at her girlfriend.

The sultry offer to get in and join her died on Maura's lips at the sight of Jane's injury. "Was that the bang that woke me up? Jane. Get in here and get that warmed up." So... togetherness, but not shower sex. "And then I'll put some arnica on it for you." And then, though she didn't say so, sex would be very gentle. She knew how to treat an injured girlfriend, especially one who had heroically dashed out of the shower to shoot the monsters beneath her bed.

Jane followed Maura's gaze to her already purpling hip and sighed. Nope, it was not going to ruin tonight. Leaning on the divider between shower and the rest of the bathroom, Jane smiled. "I have a better idea. How about you come out here, warm me up, and you can rub whatever you want? I changed the sheets."

It was, as it turned out, a much better idea.

* * *

><p><strong>Wonder what else Angela knows? Review to find out!<strong>

**The shower commercial can be found at http:/youtu[DOT]be[SLASH]wyrqog70QsU**


	5. TGTGT

**Chapter Five — TGTGT**

Morning light streamed in through Maura's window, barely broken by a leaf-bare tree near the far side of her guest house. She stretched languorously, muscles thrilling slowly at the sensation of movement restricted by a welcome weight against her side. She curled back into the taller, lankier form beside her and smiled, leaving her eyes closed; the brightness warmed her, but did not impinge enough on her awareness to need to be looked at. _Jane. _Jane was home. With her. In her bed, their bed. Right where Maura always wanted her to be. She hummed under her breath in appreciation of everything about this morning. It was going to be a good day, she decided, contrary to her usual wait-and-see caution. One hand slid sideways over her girlfriend's torso, pausing momentarily on the scar from a bullet. She frowned.

_"What if you get shot again?" Maura's voice was tight, tense, harsh. "Your mother will know, your brothers will know, even your father will know." That was playing dirty, and she knew it. Jane hadn't heard from Frank Rizzoli more than four times in the two years since he'd left Angela and moved to Florida with a girlfriend. "Korsak and Frost will know because they're your partners at work. I won't know. Not until one of your _real_ family members thinks to tell me. All those people will have the hospital staff falling all over themselves to let them visit you in the hospital, but what about me? A best friend isn't _real_ family. On paper, I'm nobody to you, and the worst part is that not one of the people that are closest to us knows differently!"_

_Jane ran a hand through her already messy hair, sighing in frustration and guilt. "I don't know how to make this better except by coming out, and I am not ready for that. You said you'd respect my decision to wait until I'm not scared to death about it, so could you just go back to that?" Another sigh; she was spending those like she'd won the sigh lottery and they were burning a hole in her pocket. "Look, I've never had a relationship that lasted past the first fight. I don't know if I'm supposed bring flowers, stomp around a little more, go thrash a punching bag at the gym, or give you food."_

_"I'd say take me out to dinner," Maura interrupted snarkily, "but we both know you won't do that. Not in a way that looks like it could be a date. Someone might see, someone might know." She had not been willing to listen to Jane's attempted overtures and apologies that day, because they wouldn't change anything. She would still be the private shame that Jane wouldn't talk about, wouldn't even joke about anymore. Maura had never felt more marginalized in her life._

No. She would not let that ugly memory control her mood today. Jane was here, in her arms, wrapped around Maura. They were together, and that fight was all but over. She could be patient for as long as it took Jane to be courageous. Truth be told, though Maura wanted very much to be honest with the people in their lives, she was only barely more brave about it than Jane. Her real tension came, not from wanting to sing it from the rooftops, but from the sure knowledge that if anyone asked the right question, she would be compelled to answer truthfully, and Jane would be mad at her.

No again. No tension today, no negativity. Jane was here. Jane was with her. Jane had chosen to come to her. They would sort out their closet issues, because they cared enough to at least keep arguing about it, rather than sigh resignedly and let it fester beneath not-quite-smiles and petty, passive-aggressive... her mind rebelled at first against the phrase, but in the end it was appropriate... passive-aggressive bullshit.

She wanted a kiss. Lots of kisses.

It was morning.

Maura was incapable of making herself kiss anyone, no matter how desired, first thing upon awakening. She got up to go and brush her teeth.

Most of the way through her morning routine of tooth care, facial care, hair care, and cosmetic application, she realized that she had not needed to turn on the bedside night light to find her way into the bathroom. It had been light enough already in the bedroom. Her eyes widened comically, fully made up, in contrast to her un-blushed cheeks and un-lipsticked lips. _We're late!_ her mind finally realized, and she darted back into the bedroom to check the clock. _Nine forty-five!_ Maura groaned, and swiftly bent to touch Jane's shoulder. "Sweetheart," she murmured, quietly but urgently. "Sweetheart, wake up. Jane, we're late for work."

Jane groaned and burrowed back into the blankets. Another gentle shake from Maura and one, malevolent, eye peered up. "Time?"

"Almost ten," Maura replied, apologetically.

Surprisingly, Jane's response was, "Not late." However she stretched up to pull Maura back onto the bed. "We don't have to be at One Center till after lunch." Not sharing Maura's aversion to kissing before brushing, Jane started in on Maura's neck, clearly with the intent of non-getting-up things. "Come back to bed?"

The address Jane had given caught Maura's attention. "One Center? Why are we going to the FBI headquarters?" Everyone in law enforcement in Boston knew that address. The FBI offices took up much of the block, and most of Jane's peers detested having to go over. The Feebies were arrogant, they said, and they weren't wrong.

With a reluctant growl, Jane let go and fell back onto the bed. "Work. You have to come sign papers so you can help me with my case."

"Well," Maura hesitated, "either way, we're late, aren't we? You have to get up, sweetheart." Even so, she tilted her head back to bare her throat. She had a serious problem with her own imperfections, including morning breath, but Jane's didn't annoy her unless she'd had salami.

Jane lightly trailed two fingers along Maura's neck. "We're not late," she insisted. "After. Lunch." Pushing herself up to sitting, Jane started to explore Maura's neck when the brash, brassy voice of Angela Rizzoli pierced the morning, preceded with a rat-a-tat knock on the door.

"Maura, are you up? Janie said to wake you girls up by ten."

Admittedly, Angela's voice wasn't very loud, and she didn't jiggle the doorknob to indicate wanting admittance. But it did shatter the mood.

"Oh," Maura whined in disappointment. Jane's neck kisses were among her eighty-three favorite things. Right around number twelve; and only because so many of the other things Jane did came higher on the list. Then she raised her voice in what she hoped was a cheerful manner. "I'm awake. Thank you, Angela. Um... Don't worry about Jane. I'll see that she gets up."

Through the door, Angela snorted, "I'll bet. I'm making you girls waffles. Or do you want bunny pancakes?"

Jane smirked and oozed out of bed. "Waffles, definitely waffles," she yawned, though not loud enough to be heard through the door. "And coffee." Jane vanished into the bathroom, chased by Maura's hiss to be quiet, and closed the door.

"Waffles?" Maura echoed Jane, loudly enough for Angela to hear through the door, and quickly went to pull on the dress she'd laid out. It was pearl grey and shimmery, with a grey wool blazer, accented with a red patent leather shoe that, on another woman and with another outfit, would be a hooker shoe. She just looked like a petite woman who wanted to be a bit closer to average height. A little tasteful jewelry, and she was ready to go.

_Good thing the bedroom wing is separate from the main living area,_ she thought as she reached for the doorknob, and went to engage in her almost daily charade of knocking on the guest room door and murmuring Jane's name. Angela would hear that, but not the lack of response, especially given the gurgling noises already coming from the coffee maker. Little lies, not of speech but of action, had become second nature during her first illicit relationship. The lies were different ones now, but only because the circumstances were different. Brophy had not had his own mother living with Maura; Jane didn't have parishioners waiting to see her when she went to work, nor would feminine-smelling shower gel be entirely out of place on her. The substance of her lies had changed, but not the fact of lying, doing things that were easily manipulated into looking like they meant something else.

And it was all so useless, wasn't it? They weren't fooling anyone.

_"Are you sure you don't want me to take Joe? It's not fair of Janie to just dump her on you every time she runs out of town." Angela had been not ranting, but being rather insistent along that vein for the last day. As soon as Jane had left town on her mysterious business, Angela started coming over a little more often than normal. Every morning at breakfast, and every night at dinner. Even in the afternoons, when Angela took a break she'd come check if Maura had eaten lunch. She was mom-ing Maura to death. _

_It was surprisingly comforting. _

_"Angela, it's fine," Maura strove in vain to reassure her. "Joe's used to being here, so her routine isn't really all that disrupted when Jane's gone."_

_Unlike to her own mother, who would have accepted Maura's statement at face value and moved on, Angela was a barracuda. "Well, it's still not fair." The woman squatted to pick up one of Joe's balls and roll it along the floor for Joe to chase. Bass, surprisingly tolerant of such antics, continued on his plodding across the kitchen floor, ignoring everyone. It was almost time he entered his habitat and settled in for the winter's hibernation, anyway. Angela stood up and fixed Maura with a curious and tentative look. She had a question._

_"What is it?" Maura asked, providing the opening. Angela's features may not have shone forth in Jane's face, but their expressions were so similar that she had little trouble reading both women with ease._

_Angela bought time by washing her hands. "I've been thinking a lot since September, when I nearly died." While Jane would have corrected her mother, Maura pressed her lips together and allowed Angela to continue unhindered. She was never in lethal danger, but Angela insisted on referring to her undercover work as 'the time I nearly died.' It was endearing, in a strange way. "I was thinking about what you told me, about being pansexual, and I think I've come to a place where I'm okay with all this, Maura." Angela took a deep breath and pushed on, "And I want you to know that I don't care who you love, or what gender they are. I'm still gonna love you like you were a daughter to me. Okay? No matter what, no matter who."_

_Warmed, Maura broke into a sincere smile. "Angela, I'm..." One hand pressed to her heart. "I'm touched. I know that was hard for you think about." She couldn't help but wonder, though, if Angela would feel the same way if 'no matter who' turned out to be her own daughter — as, indeed, it had. "But are you sure? I mean, I'm not asking permission to be who I am, but are you sure you're really okay maintaining our friendship? I know what your Church's stance is." She was no believer, but not a disbeliever either, and the last thing she'd want to do was rob a good woman of a faith that gave her comfort._

_Not as skilled with words as Jane or Maura, Angela relied on the oldest, most traditional way a mother had to tell someone she loved them. She hugged Maura. "Honey, you're a good person. You care about people. You care about my Janie, too." Angela took another breath and held Maura at arms' length. "I know how you feel about Janie, Maura."_

_Subtle, Angela Rizzoli was not._

_Danger! Alert! Backpedal! Maura would not let the full extent of her wariness show in her facial expression, but some of it doubtless came through, and she mentally cursed her lack of pokerface. "I care about Jane very deeply," she said with perfect truthfulness and utter lack of honesty. Full disclosure, she reminded herself, was not necessary, and would create problems for Jane, which meant problems for their partnership. "I've never had as good a friend as she is."_

_As she spoke, Angela wrinkled her face up, like that would give her greater insight into Maura's internal monologue. She even waited Maura out a little, as if silence would force Maura to fill the void of conversation. In this, Angela had met her match. Maura was perfectly content in silence, and her bright smile beat out Angela's questioning one. "Okay. Fine." Maura got another hug and Angela offered to make tea._

"Good morning," Maura wished Angela as she swept into the kitchen with a smile, enfolding the older woman's shoulders in a one-armed hug such as she'd seen Jane give quite often. "The waffles smell wonderful. You know you didn't have to do this, though, right? I don't like thinking I'm taking advantage of your better nature."

Angela leaned into Maura's hug, carefully pouring the batter into the waffle maker. "You know I don't mind. Besides, I took today off." She expertly flipped the waffle to let it fill in completely. "I started water for you, and your nice cups are there too." Angela pointed at the tea before bustling over to make a strong cup of coffee. "Is Janie even moving yet?"

Maura hesitated. "I believe I heard her stirring, yes."

With a hum of appreciation, Angela tamped the grinds down on the espresso maker. "She said the flight took too long. Did you sleep through her coming home?" asked Angela, cranking the filled container in tightly.

Playing for time, Maura turned away from the woman she'd come to view almost as a second mother, fiddling with loose-leaf tea, strainer, lemon, and honey. "I... well, I woke up with a nightmare," she admitted. "Jane was home by then; there was a light on." True; incomplete. It would do.

"That's good. You fell asleep pretty early. I was hoping to get Janie home before you had another one." Angela shook her head and eyed the back of the house. "And Janie is being just lazy. Can I shout at her, or will it bother your turtles?" Without waiting for an answer, Angela carefully steamed the milk, making a rather attractive latte for her daughter.

"Tortoises, Ma," Jane said as she breezed in, wearing a relaxed, yet upscale version of her normal attire. Jeans: dark and newish. T-shirt: clingy, V-necked, deep blue over a white one with a slightly higher, rounded neck. Blazer: dark grey, very sharp, recently cleaned. "Morning. Oh, is that for me?" Without waiting for an answer, she swooped in, gave her mother a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek, and snuck the latte mug right out from under her on her way to Maura, where she performed a similar action. Fortunately, Maura wasn't holding the tea cup at the moment, just dropping in a lemon slice. "Hey, babe." That kiss was _not_ a loud, filial smooch, but a soft nuzzle at the cheek near the ear.

_Merde,_ Maura thought, eyes widening in shock. She didn't even have anywhere to go after that. Quickly, her eyes darted towards Angela. Maybe she hadn't noticed.

Angela had not missed any of this, and simply nodded approvingly at her daughter. "Good, nice to see you dress nicely for a change. You'd think Maura'd be more of a good influence on your closet, all the time you spend in there."

Rolling her eyes at Angela, Jane kept an arm around Maura's waist as she drank half of her latte, no sugar (or salt) added today. "Not funny, Ma," she objected, though she didn't sound offended in the least. "Wow, this is really _good_ coffee! Did you give me Constance's stash?"

The two Rizzoli women continued to banter about coffee and food, without a single mention of Jane's greeting to Maura, nor her continued presence in Maura's personal space. When Maura tried to move a little away, just for the sake of propriety, Jane's arm tightened and brought her back to an admittedly comfortable location, tucked next to Jane.

_Why is this okay now?_ Maura kept wondering, barely registering one word in three of the conversation floating around her. _What changed?_ Very tentatively she used her free hand — the one not tucked under Jane's arm and around her waist, given that there was nowhere else for it to be but hanging uselessly by her side — to pick up her tea cup and hold it before her face, blowing gently to release some of its steam. The vapor clouded her features momentarily, then dissipated, much like the order and precision of her thoughts.

"By the way," Angela broke into those thoughts, scattering the few Maura had managed to bring together, as she set down a plate with two forks and one enormous waffle with a whipped cream smiley face, "thanks for closing the window last night."

Jane lifted the cup in mock salute to her mother. "You're very welcome, Ma. Can I have more coffee?" With her arm around Maura, Jane steered Maura to a stool and started to cut the waffle up.

"Don't get over caffeinated," admonished Angela, but she made another latte for Jane. "Do you need something stronger than tea, Maura, honey?"

"No, no thank you," stuttered Maura. "What about the window?"

"Ma can hear us when the window's open," Jane said off-handedly, before taking a too-large piece of waffle and made a groan of delight, "Ma, this is so good." Her mother protested it was just a mix, and Jane needed to eat better.

Again, Maura stammered. "Um. Me, you mean. Yes. Sorry, Angela, I apologize for my nightmares keeping you awake." As Angela turned back to the waffle iron to begin her own, Maura cast an incredulous glance upwards at Jane and mouthed, _What are you doing?_

"It's always mostly you, Janie's quiet," replied Angela, who was also giving Jane an equally incredulous look over her shoulder. "Janie, didn't you tell her?"

Jane, her mouth full of waffle, looked between Angela and Maura. "Uh. No." She swallowed and chased the waffle with coffee. "I got home, there was a nightmare, and then there was a naked girl, Ma. Sorry, I got distracted."

_"What the crap?"_ Maura blurted out, shocked into a phrase she'd only ever heard falling from Rizzoli lips before. Though her self-control was admirable, there were limits; a good tablespoon of tea, maybe more, sloshed out of her cup and onto the counter. "Jane! What are you doing?"

Now both Rizzolis looked at Maura with near-identical smirks, though Jane's was more apologetic. "I told Ma last night," Jane explained. "Sorry, I meant to tell you before, but..." Jane trailed off and looked worried. "Are you mad I told her?"

The news came as a surprise, and Maura hated surprises, but she had always been quick to integrate new information into her thinking. Quickly she shook her head. "No! No, not at all! I'm just, you know, taken aback. I really didn't think you'd do it any time soon. Angela," she turned, setting down the teacup; she'd yet to even bother picking up her fork to try the waffle. "Is this... Are you okay? I know that you said... but..."

Waving one hand, Jane put down her fork, picked up Maura's, handed it to her, and gestured to the waffle. "Eat. Before Ma gets mad." Swift now to obey, Maura cut a piece of waffle and popped it into her mouth. It saved her from having to come up with words, for as long as she was chewing.

Angela scoffed at Jane's comment. "You're both idiots," she informed the couple. "I told Janie. I see the way you two look at each other. I know what love looks like, Maura." Then Angela pointed at the waffle. "Now please, eat before Janie eats the whole thing!"

When the bite could no longer be reasonably kept in her mouth, Maura swallowed and said, "I'm sorry, Angela. I hated keeping it from you. It just..." she glanced at Jane, realized that she was perilously close to making it sound like an opening salvo of the blame game, and veered away. "It wasn't something we were ready to do yet." _Please hear that _we,_ Jane. We're a unit now, and we can finally start acting like one._

Jane tilted her head and then looped her arm around Maura again. "We're getting there," she said to Maura, her voice soft. "We're getting there."

"I'm gonna take _my _breakfast back to my place. I got the day off, I'm spending it in fuzzy bunny slippers with my soaps." Angela plated half of the second waffle for Jane and Maura, taking the other out the kitchen door with her.

A moment after the door closed, Jane started snickering. "You should have heard her in the car, Maura. We've _got _to keep the bedroom window closed."

Maura blushed. "Yes, um... Actually, she's mentioned that before. Many times." Between bites of waffle, she explained that Angela had mentioned the way that sound carried easily between the main house and guest house, since the two bedrooms were separated by nothing but air. "I've known about that since you were in the hospital after that first shooting."

"Let's not talk about Ucky Slucky," Jane protested, but Maura only blushed again.

"He wasn't there."

Jane's jaw dropped. "Who was?"

Maura cleared her throat. "Just me." Her chin lifted; she had just about enough bravado for the discussion. "But that was why I kept the windows shut, our first few times with each other. I had to be sure of your noise levels. The fact that you're quieter when things are going better for you is an asset; it probably kept your mother unaware for over a year. She's thought all this time that I was by myself in there. Well," she corrected, glancing up to see how her girlfriend was taking all of the news, "not _all_ this time."

With a long suffering sigh, Jane rested her head on Maura's shoulder. "She's known longer than you think, I bet, Maura." Jane's fork went down and she moved behind Maura, holding her with both arms in a loose hug. "Listen, about today. Uh, Ma was kinda the second person I told. Second group of people, really."

"Your mother's a group?" Maura asked as she set down her fork, ceding the last few bites of breakfast to Jane. "I realize she can be a large personality sometimes, but..."

Jane laughed a little. "No, but the FBI, the US Marshals and a witness kind of count as a group, don't they?" At Maura's stunned silence, Jane went on. "I kind of got mad at... well you'll find this out anyway. We're going to the FBI because I need your help on a case with them. It involves a witness, and I got stuck working with Dean on the case." Maura stiffened within Jane's arms, along with a sharp, quiet inhalation and holding of the breath. Dean had always upset her, from the early days in which Maura had known Jane was more likely to be susceptible to his charms than hers, to the events surrounding her biological father's shooting, and she strongly suspected that, having worked with Jane before, he was considered by the FBI to be suitable to work with her again. Those out of town trips of hers always gave her Dean-face, the way Jane looked after dealing with him, for good or ill. "I know, I know. God, I know. The point, Maura, is that he was being dicky, and I kind of shouted at him that I was a big old Gayzzoli for you."

Now it was Jane's turn to be silent while Maura processed the information. Hugging her girlfriend from behind, she could not see Maura's face go slack with incredulity. "You shut him down?" she asked after a long moment's astonishment.

"Yes."

"In front of the US Marshals?"

"Yep."

"And a witness?" This was getting good.

"Uh huh."

"And his co-workers?"

"Yeah." In fact, if Jane had planned it as an emotional hamstringing, she couldn't have done a better job. As it was, she only realized hours later, on the plane home while tuning out more of Dean's whining, the unmitigated satisfaction she should have felt at the time.

In her arms, Maura began to quiver.

"Babe?" Jane checked, nervous. Was she scared? Angry? Going into some sort of medical thing and about to need first aid?

No. Maura's silent shakes turned to little huffs, then whimpering gasps for air. She was laughing so hard, she couldn't even make proper laughing sounds. She could barely even stand upright, in fact, but she did manage to turn around to face Jane, wrapping her arms around that long, slender neck and pulling her into a kiss half-affectionate and half-consumed by hilarity. "God, I love you," she breathed between panting for breath.

While confused, Jane didn't object to the kiss or the laughter, once she could see what it was. "I love you, too." She held Maura until the laughter subsided and sighed. "You know, movie nights are gonna be a lot better now." With another squeeze for Maura, Jane let go and stole the last bite of waffle, "You ready to storm the FBI castle? Dean'll be there."

A mischievous smile crossed Maura's face. "I can't wait to see him."

* * *

><p><strong>Review, and they touch each other in front of other people. Not like that, you perverts. This isn't M-rated for sex!<strong>


	6. That Moment of Truth

**Chapter Six — That Moment of Truth**

It was rarely relaxing to let anyone else drive a car, but the calmness of Maura behind the wheel was something Jane was willing to cede to any day of the week. Just as long as you didn't get her on the freeway. Maura oozed her Prius into the checkpoint at the FBI headquarters and rolled down her window. "Hello, I'm Dr. Maura Isles."

"ID, please," replied the gate guard, bored but attentive. He took Maura's ID and scrutinized it as well as her, matching up the face. "Thank you, Doctor." He looked past Maura, "Oh, hey, Rizzoli. ID?"

Jane passed hers over for a similar inspection. Her multiple visits in recent days did not excuse her from protocol. "How's it going?" she asked, when both IDs were returned and the guard was typing on his computer.

"Same old, day in and day out." The computer beeped and produced a visitor parking pass. "You know where to go, right?" At Jane's nod, the guard raised the gate. "Don't let her wander, Rizzoli," he admonished, and let them pass.

Maura was a little rankled, "He's acting like I've never been here before," she complained. Before the last year, Maura had far more reason to visit the FBI than Jane ever had. Most of Jane's murder cases, with the notable exceptions of Hoyt's apprentice and predecessor, had been local. The others that had involved the FBI had been completely taken over by the Feebies. This was only her second true inter-agency case. Intra-agency? Maura would know. "Is this why you have to cancel lunch so often?"

"Had to, past tense, and yes," confirmed Jane, directing Maura to a spot. "Come on, it's faster if we go in through here." The last year had taught Jane more than she ever wanted to know about the FBI's buildings in both Boston and Washington D.C. (she'd been horribly disappointed to find out you couldn't take a tour of the D.C. HQ anymore, thanks to 9-11). On the plus side, Jane knew all the shortcuts to get where she needed to go.

"I usually visit their labs."

"This is my not-surprised face," teased Jane, clipping her badge to her belt. She'd brought her gun, out of habit and since she'd probably be going to work afterwards. While Maura signed in and got her special visitor's badge, Jane checked her gun in.

Maura looked at her temporary badge and then Jane's more permanent one. "Why do you already have your badge?"

"We got tired of waiting for a temp one to print up every day," explained Anna Farrell, who looked even more tired than Jane felt. "Glad you could make it, Dr. Isles. Detective Rizzoli." The handshakes were a little more familiar than the FBI normally called for.

"When did you fly in?" wondered Jane, as they trooped down the hallway to the elevators.

Anna rolled her eyes. "This morning, don't ask. Mind if we stop for coffee?" Neither Jane nor Maura objected, and when Maura ordered a coffee as well, Jane smirked. Yeah, tea was totally enough to keep her going all day. While Maura made a more complicated order than Jane or Anna had requested, the agent asked, "So what did you tell her?"

Glancing at Maura, Jane shrugged. "Nothing really. Just that I needed her help on the case, and you guys okayed it. Oh, and Dean." When Anna gave Jane the fish-eye, she added, "And the shouting at Dean thing." Anna raised one hand and made a fist. Jane copied the motion and they tapped fists just as Maura rejoined them.

"Oh! Celebratory terrorist fist bumps!" she bubbled and then looked around in a panic.

Thankfully no one seemed to notice, but Anna whispered, "Don't use the T-word here, Maura."

"Right." Maura licked her lips nervously and lowered her voice. "But, um... do I get to...?" Hesitantly she held up one fist. Doing it wrong, of course. It was a small mistake, though. The wrist was straight, as was proper, but her thumb was alongside her other fingers, not covering them. Jane rolled her eyes, took Maura's hand, moved the thumb, and then tapped it. "Thank you." Maura relaxed marginally. "Now, I understand I have to do some paperwork?"

Anna ushered them into a very plain room containing three chairs, a laptop computer, a stack of forms, and a ballpoint pen. Maura made a face. "Can't I use my own pen?" She had three in her purse, a fountain pen and two rather upscale rollerball pens.

Anna chuckled, casting a quick wink at Jane. Jane nodded in satisfaction. "Told you. Dr. Isles doesn't write with anything that costs less than my car."

"Jane, that's not true! I don't own any writing implements that cost even as much as your mother's car." Valid, but not the point, and Jane and Anna exchanged another look. Anna allowed that Maura's rollerball pens would be fine, and Maura got to work on the forms.

Ten minutes in, Anna suggested to Jane that she could probably go and get another coffee if she wanted; she knew the way. "I'll stay here in case Dr. Isles has any questions."

Jane declined, but after another fifteen minutes watching Maura read forms and initial here, there, and everywhere, she rethought the decision. "I'll bring you both back some refills. Tea this time, Maur?" Maura's nod sent Jane out of the room.

Scarcely had the door closed when Anna seated herself and nonchalantly asked, "Barry doesn't know, does he?"

"No," Maura replied once she'd finished reading the paragraph at hand and initialing the tiny blank made for the purpose. "Jane's not ready to be out at work. Really, it's just those of you who were present when Agent Dean was needling her, and she informed her mother last night."

Anna was impressed. "Seriously? Her mother? What did she say?"

Maura's smile broke forth like sunshine, and she put down the pages for a short break. "She already knew, as it turns out, and gave us her blessing. I was very proud of her, you know. It wasn't easy for her to work up to acceptance of anything about this situation, but she did it. She really loves her daughter. I couldn't be more pleased for them both." She paused, tilting her head. "You asked about Barry. Do you have any insight on how he might react?"

Regret briefly ghosted across Anna's pretty features. "He's... You know, I want to say he'll be cool about it, but I'm not really sure about that. He may turn out to be one of those guys who, you know, it's fine for somebody else, some stranger, but for a friend or family member, it might make him a little bit sketchy. I'm not sure. You know his dad's career Navy, and they're either chill about it, or really tight-laced. I get the feeling Barry got a lot of speeches as a kid about how to be a real man." She took the forms that had already been filled out and slipped Maura another stack, noting, "He sure respects Jane, though. She's pretty much his role model for how to be a great detective. Even if he's weirded out about it at first, I think he'll probably get over it. Might take him a while, but he'll come around. Eventually. And if he doesn't, I don't mind schooling him."

"Thank you," Maura said with a warm smile. "I'm so glad you're in Barry's life. And Jane's, now that I know you're the one who's been at the forefront of this case."

Anna beamed at Maura, "Thank Jane. Apparently she raised a huge stink when they wanted to put Dean in charge, saying he'd jeopardized her operation to begin with. As soon as she got upset, the witness said he wasn't going to work with anyone she didn't want to work with. Sometimes I think the two of them are in cahoots." A cryptic expression crossed the young agent's face.

"They're not," replied Maura with certainty. "Jane would never collude in anything criminal." Strong words for a woman who didn't believe in absolutes where personalities were concerned.

"Anyway," Anna maneuvered around that suggestion, "she pretty much made my career with this case. She's kind of my role model too."

"I'm glad that you got to step up and take charge of whatever this is, and that it's been good for your career. I'm sure you've more than earned the recognition and the... props." Anna couldn't quite restrain the little grin at Maura's attempted use of slang. "What? Did I say it wrong?"

"No," replied Anna, and got up to answer the little thud at the door which meant Jane had returned, hands full of coffee, and kicked it. "Okay, back to your paperwork. Those things won't sign themselves. Welcome back — ooh, is that fluffy one for me? Man. Never let it be said that Detective Jane Rizzoli does anything halfway."

"You've got that right," came a soft murmur from the woman signing her name to yet another page.

Sliding the tea over to Maura, Jane dropped into the chair between Maura and the door. Anyone busting in would clearly have to get through Jane first. "Sorry it took so long. The guy didn't know what Rizzolified meant." Jane sipped her own coffee, a plainer one. "I don't think me, sugar, and Dean would be a good combination." Silently, Maura arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, and continued to sign papers.

"Why?" asked Anna. "Got any more secrets?"

Jane gave the diminishing stack a papers a critical eye. "I won't in about ten minutes. Oh... Did Maura tell you that I'm not, uh..." Jane waggled a hand in the air. "Y'know, out?"

Anna nodded. "It was mentioned. Are we bringing Barry — I mean, Frost and Korsak in on this?"

Jerking her thumb at Maura, Jane shrugged. "That's up to her. I'm sure we can work it, just us, but if Maura's okay with it, I'd like to bring the guys in to work the case at least. We don't have to tell who the witness is."

Lifting her head in surprise, Maura flicked her eyes from one woman to the other. "Me? Well, of course, Jane, you should have your partners if you think they'd be of especial help. Do you need their areas of expertise?"

Jane glanced over at Anna, who was trying not to make too big a deal out of enjoying her fluffy coffee concoction. "Yeah, um... they have experience that'll probably be valuable."

As so often happened, Maura tilted her head as if to hear more than she heard. Something was beneath the short statement. The less words Jane used, the more she implied, but Maura couldn't quite sort out what exactly was being implied. She resumed her reading and signing of documents.

Fortunately, she read very rapidly; it took her hardly more time to read and sign the stack of papers than it would take most people to skim and sign. Not even a full hour after they'd all entered the room, she handed Anna the last of the pages and capped the pen. Her own pen, not the FBI cheapass Bic. "Is there more?" she wondered of the FBI agent as she reached for Jane's coffee cup. It was only half drunk, but she took it and sipped from it herself, then set it back down. It was their thing, their private signal: _no more for you, missy, or you'll be riding your tricycle on the ceiling all day and all night._ Jane frowned, but let it go. Maura was right. Four cups by one o'clock? Not acceptable, unless she'd been up for at least 36 hours and truly needed the caffeine boost.

There were no more papers, but Anna and Jane shared a hesitant look. Anna booted up the laptop and began to run programs. "Maura, you know you don't have to do this," Jane began and stopped abruptly at Maura's frown. "Right, okay. Next is meeting my witness, and I'm sorry. You're gonna be mad..." Again, Jane was hesitant. Secretive. "You want to go to the bathroom first?"

Exasperated, Maura said one word. "Jane."

It worked, and Jane gestured at Anna and the laptop. "Dr. Maura Isles," Anna said formally. "Meet Rick Dale." And she turned the laptop around for Maura to see a teleconference screen and a man in a blue shirt.

Paddy Doyle.

Maura stared. Then her eyes narrowed. "You're supposed to be dead," she accused the man awaiting her reaction on the screen, but did not wait for him to answer her. "And _you _have been keeping this from me. You're right, I am mad." Arms crossed over her chest, jaw clenched, she waited for some mitigating factor.

To her credit, Jane didn't wince, though she did lean over so the video pickup could register her presence. "Yeah. But now you're mad about the right thing," Jane admitted, giving Doyle a chin jerk of greeting before leaning away. "Do you want me to go outside?"

Her lips thinned as Maura processed anger, then put it aside. There would be words later, when she was sure of what she wanted them to be — that much was promised in her eyes. Even Doyle noticed it, and gave a low whistle of appreciation for the precariousness of all their situations. Nothing was said, however, until Maura gave her verdict. "Stay." Anna exhaled; she'd gotten caught in the tension, too.

Then the hazel gaze pinned Patrick Doyle, now apparently known as Rick Dale. "Why are you alive?"

With his face shrunken and pixelated, it was harder than normal to read Doyle's expression. "I was wearing a vest," he replied, no trace of his Boston accent present. "We faked it to get me into WitSec."

_Stealing the cell phone from evidence was the most terrifying thing Jane had ever done. She'd been blessed with the foresight to purchase (with cash!) a similar phone months ago, just in the eventuality this happened. No. Jane had planned for this escape route. She walked into evidence like it was any old day, she swapped the phones, and she walked out. No one noticed._

_Finding the privacy to make that call was harder than taking it in the first place, but Jane used every trick she knew to avoid her friends and family, and tracking. She turned her own phone off and left it at home. Then she took the subway, paying cash, two buses and another train, to Jamaica Plain. The last time she'd been there was when a nun had been murdered. Father Brophy's old parish. She found a seat in a park and, praying she didn't look suspicious, called the programed number. "I need to speak to_..._ him."_

_"Yeah, who is this?"_

_"Tell him it's Jane."_

_A moment later, Doyle's familiar voice cut in. "I didn't expect you to call me."_

_"You have a problem."_

_They arranged to meet where Jane was, Doyle thoughtfully bringing coffee (though it disturbed Jane that he knew her favorite guilty pleasure of coffee). The problem was simple: Doyle wanted to kill the guy who'd tried to kill Maura, and Jane didn't want that to happen. Jane wanted to get Doyle off the street and, preferably, out of Maura's life. Simple. Easy to fix. "I know a guy in Witness Protection," she explained to Doyle. "You roll over on some of your old friends, I think we can get you out of Boston and retired."_

_While she hadn't expected Doyle to agree so quickly, he did. "I'm getting too old for this, Jane," he sighed. "It's this or cement shoes."_

_"I don't think you guys actually do that anymore," she'd half-joked. His chilling look changed her mind._

_Once Doyle was in on it, the actual process went insanely fast. And Jane was even willing to let Doyle shoot their suspect. "If you can wing him, that would be best," she admitted. "I don't want his death on my conscience."_

_The only problem with getting WitSec involved was Jane needed more juice than a homicide detective usually had. She could either bring her lieutenant, Cavanaugh, in on the case, knowing that he'd have to run it up the chain, and _not_ knowing if he was the leak, or she could jump over his head and go right to the FBI, who would probably champ at the bit to get their mitts on Paddy Doyle._

_Mixed metaphors aside, Jane picked the FBI, asking for a contact to help. What she got was Gabriel Dean. "We've worked together before," Dean pointed out._

_The original plan, which even Dean agreed would have worked, was easy. Doyle would shoot at the suspect, Jane would arrest them both, everyone would be happy. Jane even figured they could get Maura in on the case that way, and she'd feel better about it too. It was perfect all around._

_What wasn't perfect was Gabriel freaking Dean. Asking him, as a boyfriend, not as an FBI agent, to stay away was Jane's one mistake, she felt. When Doyle called her, mere hours before the setup was to take place, telling her Dean was hunting him, Jane knew she had to scramble. She just had a bad feeling. For the second time in a week, Jane stole. This time it was Korsak's spare bulletproof vest. She left it at a drop point for Doyle and prayed the man followed directions. There was too much riding on this to let it go wrong._

_Of course everything did go wrong._

_Dean showed up, Doyle 'accidentally' killed the fireman, Dean shot at Doyle, Doyle shot at Dean, and Jane shot Doyle. And Maura hated Jane._

_It took both Korsak and Frost to pull Maura away from Doyle's body, and they could hear her screaming at Jane to not touch him even after the ambulance doors closed. Jane waited until they couldn't hear Maura or the sirens before she hit Dean in his uninjured arm. "You ass!" Then she kicked at the 'dead' Doyle — a couple of feet away from him, but the motion made her feel a tiny bit better. "And you're an idiot! What the hell was that? Falling off the catwalk? You could've killed yourself for real!"_

_"I thought it made it more realistic," muttered Doyle, sitting up. "I think your boyfriend broke my ribs."_

_"He's _not_ my boyfriend," snapped Jane, glaring at Dean. "What part of 'stay out of it' did you miss? Or is screwing up your own case and making yourself look like the dick you are something special they teach you in Quantico?"_

_Neither Doyle nor Dean was able to calm Jane down. It wasn't until the next day, when she'd convinced the FBI that Special Agent Farrell was a much better lead for the operation, and US Marshal Gary Obrecht was assigned to the case, that she stopped thinking about different ways to 'accidentally' poison the both of them._

_And for Jane, things only got worse from there._

When she had exhausted Rick, Anna, and Jane for every detail and every ounce of information and patience possessed by any of them, Maura stood up. "I have to think. Anna... Special Agent Farrell, thank you for reading me in on this. I'll do my best to assist in the case." That handshake was sincere, if a bit distant. She turned to Doyle and looked down at the screen, knowing well that he would see and remember her looking down at him, literally. "Mr. _Dale,_ I will speak with you when necessary. If you want more than that, I want my biological mother's name and as much other information as you have about her. _I _want to decide whether it's a good idea if I know who she is." Finally she made for the door. However, she did not open it. "Jane," she said curtly.

With a shrug towards Anna and the video-ized Doyle, Jane's expression clearly asked _Well? What would you do?_ She sat up straight. "Yes?"

She stood so straight that she could have been posing for a military recruitment poster, walked with such grace and dignity that her old Russian ballet master would have sat back to take notice. And waited.

"Oh!" Jane bolted from her seat, opened the door, and stood back.

Maura walked out, the heel clicks tension-driven and sharp, simply trusting that Jane was following.

Storm-out executed.

* * *

><p>Jane picked the sushi place. It was quiet, it was nearby, but most of all it was discreet. "The Feebies use it all the time for clandestine meetings. Which kinda ruins the whole secrecy thing if you ask me," she told Maura as they looked over their menus. "Still, Anna says they have fresh fish and are certified bug free."<p>

"Mm," came the noncommittal response as she buried her nose in her own menu. It was entirely possible that she really was enraptured by it; she was that enthusiastic about sushi. It was just as likely that she was attempting to be civil by not opening her mouth long enough to let herself start spilling anger all around them. Or, then again, it could also have been some passive-aggressive snippiness. Hard to tell. "I think I'll order salmon don, if it's wild-caught and not farm-raised."

Jane peeked over her menu at her girlfriend. This was new territory in so many ways. _Am I supposed to get her flowers? No, no I should get her fruit-flowers. Something Bass would eat. Except it's winter, so if I get fruit she'll lecture me on global warming and carbon footprints again. Okay, so maybe I should cook dinner? Or buy toilet paper! Yeah, cause that's hella romantic, Rizzoli, you idiot. Well, wait, but Ian got her wine and toilet paper... No. No recycling romantic ideas, especially when they're dumbass._ Clearing her throat, Jane replied, "I was thinking the nigiri combo box. We could split some tempura vegetables?"

"I accept your suggestion," Maura replied, and finally lifted her eyes, though not her whole head, to look at Jane over the top of her menu. "I'm not going to be mad forever." The reply of a soft smile from Jane reminded her of when Jane had asked for some time to think and process something new, too.

* * *

><p><strong>Review so Maura can get over it.<strong>


	7. You're On The Edge

**NOTE! If you are reading this chapter on a mobile device that doesn't show italics or bold, you will HATE it. Sorry, but it's a heavy flashback chapter.**

**Chapter Seven — You're On The Edge**

_"Jane?"_

_Maura's voice came as a welcome interruption. It wasn't her usual chipper, no-nonsense, professional voice; nor was it the lilting flirtation of a disastrous double date being broached; nor was it, yet, the harsh annoyance that would inform Jane Rizzoli that she had been buried in her paperwork so deeply that she had forgotten about their agreed-upon lunch at the Thai place that the medical examiner had been wanting to try. Instead, the light mezzo-soprano was small, hesitant, the voice of a best friend who wanted a favor. Even before she looked up, the detective was smiling in anticipation. No — smirking. If Maura wanted something, that meant Jane would get something in return. Already she started planning to watch the next big sporting competition on her best friend's enormous widescreen television. Visions of sugarplums, or at least the sweat on the boxers' brows, danced in her head. "Yeah, Maur, what's up?"_

_Maura smiled, and her next words proved that she knew her friend as well as her friend knew her. "I noticed there was a very important boxing game on the television tonight. Would you like to come over and watch it?"_

_"First," Jane replied, "it's a boxing match, not a boxing game. Second, yes I would! So, where are we going, and are you making me wear a dress?" The picture of innocence gazed back at her, as if Maura had not the foggiest idea what Jane might have meant. Jane was not fooled. "No. Forget it."_

_"But you don't even —"_

_"Forget it," Jane repeated. "Usually you lead with the stick and then show me the carrot. When you show me the carrot first, the stick's bigger. When you pretend there is no stick, there's a big stick, a dress, and some guy that even my mother wouldn't dare to set me up with. So forget it." If she played it just right, she'd be able to wear a pant suit and watch not just the boxing match at Maura's, but the Super Bowl. Sometimes it was just too easy._

_Maura looked abashed. "Well, there is one thing," she ventured. Before Jane could protest, however, she hastened to add, "But it's really not much. I just want you to have dinner with me, watch the game... match... and then talk to me afterward."_

_Though she'd started to resume her paperwork, ostensibly just to get it done, but really as a hint to hurry it along and just say what she wanted, Jane looked back up as the request was articulated. "That's it?" she asked, doubt heavily shading her voice._

_"That's it."_

_"What's this about?"_

_Maura's lips pursed inward, which Jane took to mean she was holding something back, and she was right. "I'd rather wait on that, or there'll be nothing to talk about after the game."_

_Now Jane was worried. "You're making me itchy, Maura. Seriously, what's going on?"_

_"Seriously," Maura replied, "I'd rather wait until after the game. Please. I'll let you order the coconut ice cream at lunch. I hear it's extremely good."_

_Jane's stomach growled, thus proving that that wasn't actually such a bad incentive, but still she held out. At least, until the caramel-haired woman delivered the _coup de grâce_: she lowered her chin so that in order to look at Jane properly, her eyes would widen ever so slightly, making her look vulnerable and childlike. "Please, Jane. For me."_

_That was it. Even if she'd wanted to continue on until she'd gotten some kind of concession out of her friend, they had only just gotten used to thinking of their friendship as once more unshakable. It was too soon after the shooting of Patrick Doyle for Jane to consider turning down the adorable puppy-pout when Maura felt it was important enough to use it. Not that Jane thought she did it on purpose, but the effect was devastating. "Okay. I mean, it's not like I'm going to turn down watching the big fight, and if I have to spend time with my best friend in the world during and afterward, I guess I can suck it up." She winked to show her jest, which would have been unnecessary with almost anyone else. With Maura, she had to be careful that the socially awkward woman understood Jane meant the opposite of what she'd said: it was far from a chore to her, to hang out with Maura._

_Suddenly elated, Maura swooped in to wrap her grey cashmere-clad arms around Jane, squeezing tight for a few seconds. Jane couldn't help but laugh at her excited little squeals. "Good! Wonderful! I'll make _phở._" The Vietnamese dish was delicious, and she'd gotten good at it lately. "Or maybe, since we're having Asian for lunch, I'll just grill some chicken breasts..."_

_Jane cut her off. "It'll be great, whatever it is. Okay, so, lunch?"_

* * *

><p><em>The grilled chicken breasts, brown rice, and steamed broccoli with mushrooms were delicious, and Jane spilled almost none of it while watching two grown men try to damage one another's faces, abdomens, and ability to construct coherent sentences in the future. Jane spent half the match shouting "Ohhhh!" and "Come on!" and the other half explaining the intricacies of the point system, permitted strikes, footwork, and myriad other details that even Maura had a tough time following.<em>

_Angela had come over a few times to talk to Maura, get her own dinner, return borrowed objects, drop off a magazine she thought the doctor might read, and remark unfavorably on her daughter's fixation with the sport. Maura, engrossed in the fight despite herself, had made her happy and sent her away with the promise of closing the window so she wouldn't be disturbed by Jane shouting at the boxers._

_Once the game was over, Maura hopped up to clear away the dinner things. She'd asked for this, but now that the moment was here, found herself a bit nervous, hoping Jane wouldn't look too closely at her memory of the early conversation. Maybe she'd believe that Maura only wanted to spend time together. Which she did, of course, but Jane had been promised some information, and she seldom let that kind of thing go._

_So it proved. "Hey, Maur," came the casual voice as Jane switched off the TV and carried over their bottles and glasses, following right after her best friend, who had the rest of dinner plates and utensils in hand. "What was it you wanted to talk about? It sounded kind of serious."_

_"Um," Maura took her time and paid extra attention to setting the plates and bowls into the dishwasher, then her wine glass. There were dishes in there from previous days; she never did a load until it was full, and even with Angela and often Jane eating there, they didn't use up a lot of dishes or cutlery._

_When her lack of answer had gone on long enough, Jane got her attention again by standing between Maura and the leftover food on one side, and the cabinet holding the leftover-saving containers on the other. "Nuh-uh. Talk to me."_

_Nervous hazel eyes lifted towards chocolate brown ones, then shifted away. "Let's do this, and then sit down," she stalled. "Okay?"_

_That bought her another five minutes. Lotioning her hands after so many washings netted her another minute. When a total of eleven minutes had been wasted on various other unnecessary pursuits, Jane sternly took hold of the smaller woman's shoulders, steered her towards the sofa, and pushed her until she had no choice but to sit. "Come on," Jane said, and for Maura it wasn't with the frustration that both of them expected, nor the howl of rage for her boxer not doing his best work or the referee who seemed hellbent on ignoring the host of infractions, real or imaginary, perpetrated by the other guy. For Maura, the suggestion was encouraging, quiet, and patient. "Look, you brought this up," Jane reasoned as she took the seat on the next cushion over. "Whatever it is, it's important to you, so I'm going to listen. You're nervous, so let's just get it over with, and then we can do something else."_

_"But it's not important," Maura found her voice, then lost it again, and cast about for something else to say, to explain._

_Jane was puzzled. "Okay. Then what unimportant thing is going on, that you needed to butter me up with a great fight so I'd listen?"_

_Maura fidgeted, twisting a bulky turquoise ring around her middle finger. "You know, it's like..." She took a moment to look for a proper analogy, then brightened considerably as she found one. "Pizza!" Expectantly she smiled at Jane, hoping that would be enough to get her point across._

_It wasn't. "Maura, honey, you're going to have to unpack that a little bit better."_

_Though her delight faltered a bit, Maura soldiered on. "Well, let's say that in your entire life, you only knew there were two kinds of pizza. Plain, and pepperoni. Maybe you love the pepperoni and hate the plain. But it's not a big deal for you if I prefer the plain, is it?"_

_"Um... no?"_

_"Right!" Maura shifted excitedly on the couch, becoming a little more physically comfortable so she could gesture as she spoke. "And it wouldn't be all that big a deal if I liked both plain and pepperoni, would it?"_

_Jane shook her head, still completely at sea. "Nnno, I can't say it'd bother me."_

_"What if I liked mushrooms on it? And keep in mind," Maura lifted a finger as a reminder, "that you've never heard of anyone putting anything on pizza but pepperoni, or nothing. But here I am, putting mushrooms on mine. Or hamburger, or peppers, or..."_

_"I get it, Maur."_

_"Do you?"_

_"Yeah. You like weird stuff on your pizza."_

_Maura's face fell. "It's weird?"_

_This was one of those conversations in which, belatedly, Jane realized there were wrong answers. "I think I know why van Gogh cut off his ear," she said softly, pronouncing the artist's surname as _Go_, rather than _Gokh_ as Maura did. "Sweetie," her voice raised to normal conversational levels as she caught Maura's hands fluttering listlessly down out of the air and held them securely in hers, "weird just means unusual. It's not a value judgement, okay? If you want pizza with ham and pineapple on it, that's up to you. As your best friend, I support you eating whatever weird... _unusual_ pizza toppings you like, okay? Now, could you tell me why we're talking about pizza before I have to order some? Because you're making me hungry all over again."_

_Maura looked down at their joined hands for a long moment before delicately extracting her own. Some things were easier without physical contact. "It's not about pizza," she disclosed. "The pizza is a metaphor."_

_"I got that," Jane repeated her earlier statement, "but I don't know what it's a metaphor _for_. I know you have a big brain, and I appreciate you trying to dumb it down to Earthling levels for me, but I need it even more Earthling."_

_"Give me a moment," Maura replied, and closed her eyes._

_For a few, fleeting seconds, Jane wondered just how much mental labor was required in order for Maura-concepts to be brought down to Jane-level, and smiled with a pleasure she would probably never explicitly mention, to know how smart her best friend really was. But then she realized that Maura wasn't thinking. She was un-thinking. Breathing in through the nose, holding for a four-count, and out through the mouth, just as they did in yoga class. Maura wasn't trying to order her thoughts, but to get out from under them entirely. Sympathy welled up. Whatever this not-at-all-important pizza thing was really about, clearly it was a bigger deal than Maura wanted it to be. Jane resolved to wait until her friend got herself sorted out, however long that took._

_Which turned out to be not much longer. Maura's eyes opened slowly, looking less pinched around the edges. "Thank you," she exhaled on the last breath out. "All right. As I was saying," she turned fully back towards Jane, "it's really not that big. It's no more important in my life than a choice of pizza toppings. It just seems bigger to talk about because we haven't before. Not directly. Normally I'd just wait for it to come up in conversation and say, well, this applies to me. Then it would be out there, but not in any way other than as just a piece of information. But the only times it's ever come up were when the situations were just not appropriate, and it would have been highly uncomfortable for me, and probably for you."_

_"Like when?" Jane asked, probing for something that would clue her in to whatever Maura was trying so hard not to say._

_Eyes focused on the turquoise stone within its gold setting, Maura recalled the incidents. "There have been a few, but the most awkward one was the first. When you came over because of Hoyt."_

_Jane remembered that night. She'd been nearly out of her mind with fear, and the worst part was that it was fully justified. Charles Hoyt had been no fevered creation of a sleepless, fretful mind. He was real, and the things he did, the things he planned to do to her, were worse than any nightmare she'd ever have been able to produce on her own. She nodded for Maura to continue._

_"You were so scared," Maura was saying already. "I knew right away how frightened you were because you came to me so late, and we weren't even really close at that point. It must have been terrifying, knowing you couldn't even go to your family without risking their safety, too." Jane nodded again. "When you asked me if we were just having a sleepover, or if I was trying to say I was attracted to you, that would have been the right time in any other situation to tell you."_

_Jane sat back a little. _Oh, my God, she's trying to come out._ This was a big deal. That is, it wasn't, but it was. Wasn't it? No one had ever come out to her before. She had never figured largely enough in someone's life that they were on the list of people to tell specifically. She tried to summon a response, only to have Maura's words continue to flow all around them. "But right then, in that situation, it was the worst possible time. You weren't really asking what you were asking. You were just trying to defuse a tense, fearful feeling by making a joke. The last thing you needed was to think I actually was attracted to you and trying to make advances while you were so vulnerable. You came to me for safety and security, and that was _all_ I was offering you that night."_

_Confused, but sincerely attempting to bridge the gap, Jane leaned forward again as if mere physical closeness could get her closer to understanding, too. Since then, there had been times that it could have been addressed, she started to think, then stopped herself. There had been that one time, when Maura fell asleep meditating on her bed because arguing was too stressful. She'd slept too, lulled to sleep by the quiet comfort of someone warm breathing beside her. But no, that night wasn't the time for it. Jane had been oversensitive, knowing she was going undercover as a lesbian, and was behaving irritably. It had probably come out looking like at least a mild case of homophobia. The following day she'd only gotten more tense, having to go to work, deal with her regular paperwork, and prepare for that undercover gig at the gay bar _with Maura_. No, that wouldn't have been a great time to talk about it, either. Not with all the crap she was getting from fellow detectives razzing her about it, and with the complaining she was doing whenever Maura would listen._

_Giovanni had inspired another moment in which Maura could have told her, but once again, Jane had been a bit hot under the collar. She'd only meant to indicate distaste for Giovanni, but looking back, she could see that demanding, "You don't want to sleep with me... do you?" had perhaps looked a little bit unwelcoming of such confidences._

_Again, Jane nodded, this time with the understanding she had lacked before. "You weren't really hiding it on purpose, were you?" Maura shook her head. "I just made it hard for you to say anything."_

_The smaller woman nodded guiltily, as if apologizing for having to call Jane out on that. "Not intentionally, though. I know that. It's just a thing. If it had never come up before, I could have been as casual about it, inside myself, as I usually am. But because it did come up on those few occasions, and I didn't feel it was the appropriate time then, you might legitimately wonder if there was a specific reason that I didn't speak up before. So every moment that I _don't_ talk about it, it becomes bigger, when really it's not that major for me, at least. Not being strictly heterosexual is something I really only have to think about when it's an issue for someone else. Do you see?"_

_"Even _more_ more Earthling," Jane said, patient as ever, but also a bit dull. Just how much unpacking did Maura have to do with this pizza? "What, exactly, are we talking about? What does it mean to be not strictly heterosexual? How un-strict are we talking, here?"_

_"I'm pansexual."_

* * *

><p><em>"Well, no wonder you put it in the pizza metaphor. You know, you cooked me dinner on those pans."<em>

_Maura sighed and started to explain, only to be forestalled by Jane already doing it. "I know, I know. You mean pan, from the Greek word for 'all,' and don't look so surprised that I know that. So, pan means all, which means that... Just guessing, here, that there's something that's broader than bisexual here. Please, just tell me it doesn't involve goats."_

_"No," Maura replied, a little dazed that Jane had followed her meaning, "though I'm intrigued that so many people finding out about it immediately wonder about goats, in particular. Perhaps it's because Pan is the goat-legged demigod, but that Pan is actually derived from a different linguistic source, meaning 'to pasture,' which... is... probably not important, right?" Jane already had one finger on her nose, the other pointing at Maura, in a _bingo, right on the nose_ gesture. "It means there are more than just two genders. Gender is often thought of as a pure dichotomy, but it really isn't. There are many types of physical genders, emotional and mental genders, gender expressions. It's easier to speak in dichotomies, and I do it for the sake of ease in communicating with those who don't actually know there are more than the two at the extreme ends of the spectrum, but..."_

_"I get it," Jane said for the third (fourth?) time that night. "You're saying you don't care what the toppings are, as long as there's pizza for dinner. See? I was listening."_

_Relieved and gratified, Maura let her posture relax a bit. "Yes. That is to say, gender is neither a qualifying factor, nor a disqualifying factor, when I'm deciding whether I want to date someone."_

_Jane thought about it for a moment. "Yeah. Yeah, I can see how feeling that way isn't a big deal for you, but it might be for somebody else. Am I the first person you've told?"_

_Maura's head shook. "It's really not a secret. My parents are aware of it, my schoolmates all knew in France, most of the people I considered my inner circle of friends in university and medical school. I don't announce it or make a big deal, but I've never tried to hide it."_

_The taller woman took her time considering options, then wondered, "Then why not me? I mean, I can see how I didn't make it easy, but why tell me now, and why not before now? We're best friends. Aren't we?"_

_There it was, the wedge Maura had never wanted to drive between them. "We are," she replied with fervent sincerity. "But the... Well, at all the times that were the best opportunities to mention it, the circumstances dictated that it would be in poor taste." Because of Jane's questioning expression, she felt compelled to expound. "And what was I supposed to say, and how should I have said it? We have sleepovers. I help you get ready for your dates. We go to the gym together and shower afterward. These things happen almost daily. The very things that make it more important for you to know are the things that make it impossible to find a good time to talk about it. But that's why I'm saying it now. It's really gone on too long, and editing myself just makes me feel tired."_

_Jane said nothing, though her eyes widened infinitesimally at the realization of just how many things they did together that would make that conversation less than comfortable for Maura if she had been wondering if it were uncomfortable for her, for Jane. "Okay, well... I'm just going to get this out of the way so you can say no and everybody can relax, okay?" She smiled as if about to solve any and all problems, real or perceived. "_Was_ it a sleepover, or were you trying to tell me you were attr—?"_

_"You were joking," Maura broke in, not wanting to hear that question again, not now, with Jane's dawning realization beginning to color the timbre of her rasping voice, "and I knew that, so I just laughed. Responding in any other way would have put you in a difficult place. _All_ I wanted to give you at that time was a sense of safety and security so you could rest. You needed to sleep, not have to deal with an unrequited crush."_

_"But," Jane ground the one word out slowly, her mental gears nudging one another into motion. "You... were? Attracted?"_

_"Yes." Maura glanced elsewhere, almost looking apologetic. "But it was irrelevant at that time, and since then it's... Well. I'm attracted to a lot of people, but I don't usually let it go beyond noticing that someone's attractive, unless they indicate interest in me first. Attractions come and go. Most of the time, I don't feel the need to do anything about it. It's just there. It's an instinct, and it's a powerful one, but I'm not an animal. I can choose to acknowledge it and move on, and direct those instincts and energies elsewhere."_

_Marfan Man._  
><em>Brock.<em>  
><em>Garrett the fratricidal murderer.<em>  
><em>Ucky Slucky.<em>  
><em>Giovanni the face licker.<em>  
><em>Ian.<em>  
><em>Tommy.<em>

_How many other 'elsewheres' did Maura have on her list that Jane hadn't even noticed, just since they'd become close friends?_

_"You're saying... I don't know what you're saying."_

_"I'm actually trying _not_ to say I'm interested in you." It didn't get plainer or more Earthling than that. "But if it helps, the attraction has changed. It changed a long time ago."_

Whoa_. "Hold up. Changed how?" Jane abruptly realized she needed to know. Maybe that was a momentary thing, and it was done now, but not-knowing wasn't an option anymore._

_Twisting her ring again, Maura weighed her words carefully. "When we first met, I didn't really know much about you. My attraction was rather juvenile, and based solely on your appearance, how you carried yourself, and... just your personal magnetism. Chemistry. Simple, physical attraction. The kind that is pleasant to acknowledge, but easy to get past."_

Whoa. Again._ Before Jane could express, or even process, any reaction, Maura went on. "Since then, I've come to know you as a person and not just as a..." She had the grace to blush. "Um. Not as just an object of fantasy. And," she hurried on past the awkward phrasing, "since as far as I can tell, you identify as a heterosexual, I don't plan to do anything about it. I just wanted you to know because it's a part of my life and so are you. It just seems a little ridiculous that the person who is closest to me is the one who didn't know this. And because I owe you a fair opportunity to make more informed choices about how close we are."_

_But Jane wasn't quite so quick to dismiss it. "Come here," she beckoned with word and a little hand motion, and took Maura's hands to just hold them. They remained flat, other than where Jane's fingers pushed Maura's out of strict alignment with the holding. "Thank you. I know it's not a big deal for you. You told me that. But it could have been a big deal for me, and you trusted me enough to know it wouldn't be, so thank you. You're still my best friend. Nothing's different about that. Okay?"_

_Maura nodded, feeling her heartbeat echoing up her throat._

_"I'm not scared of you." Jane's heart broke a little at the relief visibly washing over Maura's face, her entire posture. "And I don't want to not be friends, and I don't want to... be different with you. I like how we are." Maura nodded, and Jane gave her chilled, nervous fingers another light squeeze. "And I know you didn't just come out to me to get me in bed. Okay? Because I've been in your bed, and you've never been anything but a perfect gentleman." She winked; Maura was able to laugh, albeit a bit shakily. "You trusted me. I trust you, too."_

_They both thought that was the end of it, and fell silent, not quite knowing where to go. At last, Jane said, "I know you didn't tell me about this to make me do anything in particular, okay? But I'm going to just... This will come out sounding kind of stupid, but bear with me." Maura nodded assent. "I'm straight. As far as I know. I mean, other than a few jerks who say stuff to get under my skin, I've never... this hasn't been a part of my life. So it's new for me."_

_"Jane, I know, and I would never..."_

_But Jane wasn't finished. "No. Shh. You were brave and you said a lot to me, so even if it takes me a little longer, I'm going to be brave too, okay? My turn to talk." Even so, it took her several seconds to go on. "I'm just saying, it's been something that other people have to live with, and I've never had to really think about it, unless it relates to a case, or that thing with Giovanni. Which, by the way, is funnier now, and later on we're going to laugh about it, but not right now because I'm being serious."_

_Jane's hands were warm, and just as easy holding Maura's as always, as she promised, "Since you're my best friend, and since this is part of you, I'm going to learn about it. I'm going to get some books, and I'm going to ask you questions, and actually listen to all the Wikipedia and Encyclopedia Brown stuff you do when you answer me, because it's going to be relevant now. Because you may not have had an agenda when you brought this up, but you should have. You should've been thinking, _I need to educate my best friend_. So I'm gonna make that my agenda now. Okay?"_

_"Okay," Maura replied, not quite tearful, but very touched._

_For a normally laconic woman, Jane certainly knew how to unload a truckful of words when she found reason to do so, such as now. "And, you know, I'm... gonna think about it, too. Okay?"_

_"Think about it?" Maura began, confused. "You mean, you're not sure how to deal with me now? But you just said..."_

_"Not what I meant," Jane replied, though she smiled at the lightly misdirected assumption. "You said that you've been attracted to me in the past in one way, and now you're maybe still, but different. No, let me finish." True to form, Maura had been about to clarify. "I don't need to know details yet. What I need to know is if there is any part of me that could... What do I want to say?"_

_She broke off, forehead creasing with the effort of thinking emotionally. "This hasn't been anything I ever really _needed_ to think about before. If you're at all into guys, you never have to look any further to see if there's anything else out there that you could be into, too, because there's this assumption that everybody's straight, and anything else is something you have to find out about later. You know? I mean, I've never been into a woman before, but I'm not going to say I could never, ever be into a woman. And let's face it, if I was, it would pretty much have to be you, right? I mean, you're my best friend, gorgeous, fun, smart, ethical. What's not to love? We already know I love you for all of that. I mean, Frankie once told me if you were a guy, we'd already be married by now, and I'd be popping out enough little Isleses to make even Ma happy. So, no promises about the outcome, but I'm going to really think about it."_

* * *

><p>Recalling that long-ago conversation, and the result, Maura gave a smile as a peace offering as they ate lunch. "Surprises are upsetting to me, and I don't like that keeping this away from me makes me feel duped. It will take me some time to understand how I feel about... him being alive. I need to think and process, but when I've done so, I don't believe I'll be angry. What disturbs me most, I think, is the fact that you kept something so big from me. But you didn't stay mad forever when I was legally required to keep information from you, and this is almost exactly the same thing. I'll get over it. Just not right away."<p>

After a moment, Jane smirked. It was too soon for a joke, even one about going to buy some foot wine and tell Maura she loved her. But Maura already knew that, and Jane would save the humor for a little later. "Like I said. I'm happier you're mad at me for the right reason." Carrying around the fake guilt of having 'killed' Doyle, and then the burden of his existence at all for almost eighteen months had been draining. "I can tell you everything now, though. Just ask, any time. Even if you want to wake me up in the middle of the night and ask me something, I'll tell you."

Conversation was stalled by the waiter, where it was confirmed the fish was not farm raised, and the salmon was fresh. Jane ordered a Sprite Zero in deference to Maura's early eyebrow commentary about too much caffeine. Once he'd left, warily respectful once he heard Maura's Japanese accent, Maura squared her shoulders, huffed once with the air of getting on with it, and smiled. The smile was not perfectly warm, but at least it was a promise of warmth to return. "Come here." She moved aside the various items on the table and lay her hands down for Jane to take, and when she held those slender, scarred hands within hers, her smile became more real. "I'm going to think about this. I've never been in this situation, and I've never loved anyone enough to want to get past something this big. But I do now. I want to get past it, because I do love you that much. Thank you for having me brought in. I think you did that for reasons that weren't entirely official. I'm glad you wanted to be truthful with me."

Jane exhaled. "Oh, well. No. It is official. I mean, I actually _do _need your help. Rick won't give up any more info on his old employers unless we solve a cold case for him." They had not, yet, gotten into any detail about the actual case. Or even that there really was a case, and not just an excuse to get the daughter/girlfriend in on it. "And part of his new deal was telling..." Jane trailed off and winced a little. "Part of the new deal was telling his daughter. He said it! I didn't!" Yeah, there was really no way to soften that blow or make it sound better than what it was.

With a face a poker player would die for, Maura asked, "So Dean knows?" The hands that held Jane's twitched a little.

"Yes."

"And Anna?"

"Yeah."

"And the US Marshals and FBI?"

They had had this conversation before. "Yep."

Maura's eyes closed in an understated wince and she took her hands back. The little head-slide, the tip to one side, she must have picked up from Jane. _"Now _you can shoot him."

"Wish I could," sighed Jane, and she sipped her Sprite. "Rick's been giving up intel easier than Kate Talucci gave it up behind the bleachers. OC's in heaven." She swirled the straw in her glass a little and then rested her chin in the palm of one hand. "Take all the time you need to think it out, babe. I'll still be here."

"So will I."

They ate their lunch in relative quiet, Maura preoccupied with the news that her biological father was still alive, and with him, the connection to her biological mother. Moreover, her girlfriend had not killed her father. She had, in fact, been instrumental in saving his life. Maura smiled into her tea cup as the irony of the matter occurred to her, of the vast difference between her previous perception of the events in question and the reality itself. It was hard to maintain anger at that point. Caution, surely: she would need to be more certain of her feelings about everything, not say all was forgiven until she truly felt it was, lest she give Jane false hopes. But she'd also need to be clear with herself, so that when her anger was fully gone, she could move forward instead of trying to sustain it unnaturally.

Jane, for her part, spent the time thinking honestly about how far she could go in her own outing. Her mother knew; that was the hardest part. The entirety of the FBI and US Marshals knew, or soon would; it was probably already being recorded in a file somewhere. For the sake of peace within the family, her brothers should probably hear it next, and the same for her police family: Korsak and Frost. But her mind balked at the idea of coming out to any of those four men who thought they knew her so well. She would have to take it slowly, she decided, and for the first time in a long time, knew that Maura really _would _be patient enough to let her do that.

Conversation was scarce, but pleasantly mundane, as if they'd agreed not to bring up anything large. They did not fight over the lunch check. Jane reached for it, and Maura didn't argue that her own income was higher, or that Jane had paid last time they went to lunch. She simply kept mental track of the total, and would later add it to the amount she intended to spend on Jane's wardrobe or some other little favor that Jane wouldn't notice, so that the detective's smaller bank balance wouldn't dip lower for Maura's sake.

As they walked out to the car afterward, Maura held the door for Jane, who then reached back to take her hand. Unreasonably, it gave the smaller woman a little thrill that she would not mention later, getting to be the one to do a small, chivalrous thing. Almost as nice as having her hand held, right outside the restaurant, like it was no big thing. Like they used to find easy, before there was actually something for people to talk about if they thought to do so. It warmed her, and made her heart flutter. _Hearts don't flutter,_ she reminded herself, and just as quickly came the thought, _Shut up. It feels fluttery, somewhere between my heart and stomach. But the stomach is higher, almost up in the lungs... Shut up. I feel fluttery because Jane is touching me. For the love of all that's good, just enjoy the flutter. Be a girlfriend, not a scientist, just for a moment._

The feeling lasted until well after they'd gotten back home, done some chores, watched a movie, and fallen asleep on the couch.

* * *

><p><strong>Review, and Maura will get to feel fluttery again.<strong>


	8. Is It Too Hard To See?

**Chapter Eight — Is It Too Hard To See?**

It was strange having a meeting in Cavanaugh's office without the lieutenant around. Sean had let everyone in, given Special Agent Dean a weird look, and then patted Rizzoli's shoulder before leaving. Once the door was closed, Jane nodded at Dean and started asking Frost and Korsak nonsense questions about sports, carpeting and stuff that had nothing to do with work. Doc Isles just sat in a chair with her hands clasped, looking like a woman about to divorce her husband.

Something was really wrong, and Korsak knew it.

When Dean pulled out an electronic device, Frost yelped, "A bug sniffer?"

Jane glared at him, "Subtle, Frost. Real subtle." Abashed, Barry sat down on the couch. "Sit down, Vince, it's okay."

"Keep talking," instructed Dean, who waved his little wand sweeper over the walls.

_Well, at least I know she ain't pregnant,_ thought Korsak, when Jane rolled her eyes at Dean. If she was pregnant, Dean'd have his balls cut off already. "Okay, we're scanning the office for bugs because we never found that leak. I mean, we think it was Bobby Marino, but since we're gonna work with the FBI on a case, I thought we should sweep for bugs, and Cavanaugh was nice enough to give us his office. It was this or we all troop down to the FBI's HQ, and that looks more suspicious than Dean showing up here for a consult." While Jane spoke, Dean covered the desk and the chairs. "You don't have to agree to work with me, us, on this. Maura's already read in, though, and I wanted to bring you guys in. But you're not going to get the whole story."

Korsak raised his eyebrows to regard Jane. "This the thing you been working on?" She nodded. "And we don't get to know what the thing is? Even if we agree we want in?" Another nod. Korsak glanced at Frost, who was chewing his lip. "Okay."

No one said anything for a moment. Then everyone, even Maura, turned to look at Frost as he asked, "It's not illegal?" Jane threw her hands up and sat on the edge of Cavanaugh's desk. "I'm sorry! I just..." He looked from Dean to Korsak and then swallowed. "I'm in."

At Dean's nod, Jane started. "We have a cold case. Murder's attributed to Paddy Doyle, but we don't think he did it." Korsak thanked God for years of poker. Neither he, nor Frost, reacted to the name of Maura's deceased biological father. "We need to figure out who really did it. Last chance to bail, guys." Neither man moved and Jane smiled.

"Why don't you think Doyle did it?" asked Korsak, leaning back.

"The vic was Cassandra Gerstmann." When there was no reaction, Jane went on. "We worked her son's case a couple years ago, Korsak. Colin Doyle." The shoe dropped and Korsak felt his jaw drop open a little.

Frost, his own face furrowed, spoke first. "Why didn't this come up when we worked Colin's case?"

This time it was Dean who answered. "Kid covered his tracks. He was born Andrew Colin Antonov to Cassandra Wilmington, father unknown, in Boston. They moved to Philadelphia when he was a baby, after Cassandra married Eric James Gerstmann. Eric adopted the kid, who took his name, and died when... Colin... was 10, heart attack. Nothing suspicious about it, and they moved back to Boston. Last record of Andrew Colin Gerstmann is graduating high school at fifteen. Never used his social security card for a job, never opened a bank account. He just stopped existing." When Dean took up a position on the other end of the table from Jane, Jane got up and went to stand by Maura.

Dean coughed once. "Right. We picked up Colin Doyle only after he started working with his father. So far we've found over twenty aliases, from Mikhail Ivanovich to Carlos Valdez. No pattern to any of them, and they're all stone cold perfect. The kid was a genius. Each ID has realistic credit records, school history, even the little stuff like fake parking tickets."

Daring a glance at Maura, Vince saw the doc's lips were pressed tightly together. _How hard is it for her to hear about her brother like this? _"I get it," cut in Korsak, trying to somehow protect the ME. "Colin's impressive. And the odds that Doyle'd kill his kid's mom is pretty slim. So we find out who killed Cassandra and we... help your whatever-it-is case, and everyone's happy?"

"Pretty much," agreed Jane, one hand resting on the back of Maura's chair. "But since it's got ties to Doyle, you see why we've got to keep it quiet."

Korsak snorted loudly. "No shit." That had an ice-breaking effect. Even Maura darted a small smile his way. "Okay. So we better get cracking. I'll go haul up the old reports. She died in Boston over ten years ago, so the records are still gonna be hard copy. No problem, I'm on it."

Not to be left out, Frost suggested, "I'll pull up any cross references to why they thought Doyle did it. I'm betting it was just 'Oh look, an ice pick! Doyle did it!' We should have at least that much in the computers or..." He paused, "Are they safe to use?" This was asked of Dean, directly.

"Dunno. We checked the phone system for wiretaps, but Cavanaugh's balking at letting us search for computer security issues. An external scan looked clean, so if anything, it's an inside job. We'll monitor to see if your searches set off any alarms." Dean shifted on his perch, uncomfortable. "Dr. Isles and Ja_— _Detective Rizzoli are going to start with looking at the autopsy. Your lieutenant's getting me an empty office on the second floor that we can use. I'll secure it this afternoon. Officially, I'm here as the FBI liaison for an inter-agency case, nothing more." He managed to seem smarmy, arrogant, and expectant all at once. Like they were all there for his sake.

Wondering why Dean always had to sound so douchey about things, Korsak nodded. "And other than that, your majesty?"

Jane shot Korsak an appreciative look. "Dean's greasing the wheels. And getting us anything we need." At Korsak's raised eyebrows, she sighed. "Yeah, I know, I remember how unhelpful he was in the Hoyt case too, Vince. I'm in charge this time."

The disgruntled expression Dean's face seemed to confirm that statement. Oh, that was a story Vince wanted to hear over a beer! "If we're done here," grumbled Dean, "I'm going to set up my office. We'll meet there at —" He stopped, scowled, and looked at Jane. "When do you want to meet up, Detective Rizzoli?"

"Tomorrow, eight o'clock, sharp. _Your_ office." Jane verbally twisted the knife as she added one last sentence. "You can bring donuts and coffee."

Power had clearly been ceded to Jane, and she smirked a little. It was strange to watch. The first time Dean had shown up, Korsak watched with horror as Jane seemed to be attracted to the former jarhead. The next two times, there had been awkward flirting that Vince had cringed over having to witness. But now, it looked like Janie would be perfectly content roasting Dean on spit and watching him burn while she had a beer, which was a bit much. Korsak eyed Jane curiously after Dean left the room. "What the hell happened between you and Dean? I thought you liked the guy. I know he shot, uh," he glanced towards Maura, "Doyle, but jeez."

"Things change, Korsak," Jane growled, and walked out with Maura.

* * *

><p><em>Jane had never passed out at an autopsy before. She prided herself in being tougher than the men, and rarely used Vicks under her nose to keep the smell down. So when she saw the pregnant woman on Maura's table and went vasovagal (look at that, even when passing out, Maura's Google-mouth had something smart to say in Jane's brain), everyone freaked the hell out.<em>

_"I'm fine," insisted Jane as Barry scooped her up. He carried her like a bride into Maura's office, where Jane continued to insist she didn't need to see a doctor. "Maura can stitch me up."_

_The bleeding from her forehead was minor, though Jane wondered why she'd had to hit her head on the instrument tray. Maura had started to protest that Jane really should go to the hospital. "You were dizzy, Jane. This could be symptomatic of —"_

_"Look, I didn't eat breakfast, okay?" Frost opened his mouth to protest, as they had actually shared a breakfast burrito that morning on the way back from an interview. Looking at her partner's friendly face, Jane felt the prickle of tears in her eyes. "God, Frost, please just go away!"_

_Really, Jane had no great interest in breaking down in front of Maura either, but if the option was her partner or her somewhat estranged best friend, she was going to pick Maura. "Yes, Barry, it's fine. I'll take care of it." Maura cajoled Frost out the door just in time for Jane to double over crying, pressing the gauze to her forehead. The couch shifted as Maura sat next to Jane, gently resting a hand on her lower back. Thank God, it was Maura. Anyone else would spout platitudes, or poor-sweet-baby at her. Maura just let Jane peter out, and presented her with tissue and a bottle of water. "Can I look at your forehead now?" asked Maura, tentatively, after Jane had managed to get her breathing under control._

_Jane nodded a little, and sat still while Maura gently probed the cut. "I'm sorry," she sighed shakily._

_"You don't have to be," Maura murmured. "Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital? I'm not a plastic surgeon."_

_"I'd just get some scuzzy intern anyway," Jane pointed out._

_Maura made a small 'hmm' noise, but pulled the tray over. She'd prepped it in expectation of Jane's consent. "The betadine will sting," warned Maura before swabbing Jane's forehead and giving her a shot. "It will take a minute for the anesthetic to start working."_

_"I know," sighed Jane, dully. She looked anywhere but at Maura. It was entirely unfair to consider dumping her personal drama on her friend. Former friend? Still friend? Their relationship was a little too touchy for that. "How's your mother?"_

_"She went home two days ago," Maura replied, not sounding half as agonized about the subject as she had three weeks ago. "My — father's meeting her there. She said she'd rather complete physical therapy at home."_

_The hitch in 'father' did not go unnoticed, but Jane chose not to bring attention to it. "That's good." Stupidly, thinking about Constance Isles made Jane think about her own mother, and then... There went the water works again, damn it. "I'm sorry, damn it," complained Jane, wiping her face again._

_The ME looked at her searchingly, studying Jane's eyes and face. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, her voice quiet in that way way Maura got when she thought she knew the answer, but was reluctant to voice it._

_"Yes," admitted Jane, "But it's not fair, it's not your — It's not your fault." Jane sniffled once. It was her own damn fault she didn't have anyone to talk to about this. _

_Maura frowned, "Let me stitch you up first," she ordered. With cool efficiency, Maura stitched Jane's forehead up and put a band-aid atop. Then, with her gloves off and the implements moved away, she took one of Jane's hands and squeezed it, "Tell me."_

_"It's fine, Maura. Really. I'll be fine." Jane was saved an argument with the ME when a new case came with a rush. She escaped out the back of the lab, snuck up the stairs and took the afternoon 'sick,' which was backed up by Barry, who said they'd had a sketchy breakfast. Yet another person she owed a favor to. Jane kept running until she got to her apartment, where she threw herself on her bed, pulled a pillow onto her face, and lay in silence, not even comforted by the quiet Joe curled up at her knees, trying not to think about what her life was about to become._

_She didn't know how many hours later it was that she heard a key in her door. "Jane?" The too familiar, painfully familiar, voice of Maura pierced the numb haze in Jane's mind and stopped her from grabbing her gun._

_"Maura?" she asked, stupidly, stumbling out of the bedroom to stare at the ME. Of course Maura still had her keys. While Jane had willingly given hers back when asked, she'd never asked Maura for those spares. "What are you doing here?"_

_Maura put the keys in question, as well as takeout food and another paper bag on Jane's kitchen counter. "You're not eating right, you're not sleeping right, and I am fairly certain you haven't been exercising. I don't see you at yoga."_

_"I'm taking the afternoon class," Jane managed, sitting down on a stool. She tried to kick her brain into gear. "That didn't answer my question, Maura."_

_"If you're not going to take care of yourself, especially now, then I will." That was an answer that implied Maura knew exactly what was going on._

_Jane stared at Maura and felt the blood wash out of her face. Before she could pass out (for a second time, how embarrassing would that be?), Jane found equilibrium. "I'm fine, Maura, honestly. It was just bad food, or not enough food."_

_It seemed Maura had enough. "Chloasma, Jane." When Jane stared, stupidly, at her, Maura touched her own face, indicating spots on her cheeks. "Commonly called a pregnancy mask. It's less common in women with lighter skin, but not unknown. Plus you're irritable, you're late, you've passed out, you're not drinking coffee, and Frost says you threw up this morning." Maura reached into the paper bag and held up a home pregnancy test. "Pee, or I take a blood test."_

_She matched Maura's gaze for a brief moment. Without question, Maura would sit on her and forcibly draw blood. "This is the most reliable one, isn't it?"_

_"Most highly rated, and since you're a month late, the efficacy increases. When did you last urinate?"_

_"Oh, god!" groaned Jane, and she grabbed the box, stomping off towards the bathroom as Maura followed, explaining that the urine needed to be in the bladder for at least four hours. "Oh, it's been longer than that," promised Jane. "Do I have to?"_

_"If you want to know so you can either worry correctly or stop worrying," Maura replied with steel in her voice, "you're going to be tested. Now, get in there and make a wee."_

_The incongruity of Maura demanding she 'make a wee' spurred Jane. She shut the door and announced promptly, "I'm peeing on the stick now, okay?" Jane finished in the bathroom and washed her hands. She popped the door open and looked around, "Okay now what?"_

_Maura was in the bedroom, changing Jane's sheets. "Now we wait fifteen minutes. Do you think you can eat?" Even the idea of food made Jane's stomach roil. "I didn't think so. Take your shoes off." Maura kicked her own heels off and sat down on her side of Jane's bed, an action Jane copied._

_This felt like they were _them_ again. Rizzoli and Isles, a team unstoppable. And with that, it all bubbled right out. "God, this is all my own stupid fault. I'm freaking out because I don't have anyone to talk to and, God, I don't want this at all, Maura! I can't tell Ma, and I can't tell you, and I sure as hell can't tell Korsak or Frost, but what am I gonna do? I'm supposed to be this big, brave, badass detective, and I'm too chicken to pee on a damn stick by myself!" Jane ended in a wail and found herself crying for a third time that day (which was better than passing out), this time collapsing against Maura's shoulder. "And I used protection! I've got the NuvaRing thing you told me about, and we used a condom! But... God, I'm late. I missed a period, and it's freaky, but I love that you just know that, because I needed someone. I needed you, Maura, I needed you so bad, and I didn't have you."_

_And Maura just held her through all this, supporting Jane and easing them both so they were lying down, Jane cradled protectively in Maura's arms. "You have me now," she whispered, rubbing small circles on Jane's back. When Jane finally hiccuped to a stop, Maura stroked her hair out of her face. They'd worked themselves gradually into position with Maura on her back, legs bent and resting atop Jane's, which were bent up under Maura's backside, and Jane's head resting on Maura's shoulder and upper chest. "If you're pregnant, Jane, we have three options." Maura's other hand was soothing on Jane's back. "Abortion, adoption, or keep the baby."_

_Sometimes you needed a friend who spelled things out like that. "I don't think... I think I'm too Catholic to have an abortion," she sighed. "And can you see me raising a baby by myself?"_

_"You're not by yourself, Jane. You have me, your family..." Maura trailed off, and somehow managed to say one last name. "Gabriel."_

_All the tension that the tears had washed away, and that Maura's soothing touch had helped chase off, was undone. "I'm _not_ raising a kid with _Dean_. No. Noooo, no." She sat up and wiped her face with her shirt. "It's not — I'm not telling him. No matter what."_

_Maura arched her eyebrows. "Jane, he has a right to —"_

_"No. You know, the only right he has to know is if the kid needs a kidney or something. But it was a mistake letting him back into my life, and if I'm gonna have to regret him every day for the rest of it, it sure as hell isn't going to be a life where I have to _look_ at his pasty, mooby, body every day!"_

_Of all the words Jane had said, the most predictable was the one that caught Maura's attention. "Mooby?"_

_Jane held her hands out in front of her own breasts and said, as dryly as she could, "He had man boobs, Maura."_

_Slowly, Maura's eyes went from Jane's hands to her face. The pinched expression of valiantly restrained amusement was one Jane hadn't seen for over a month, and it felt like the first warm, spring day after a long, bitter winter. Maura pressed her lips together and looked apologetic as she tried not to laugh at the image of Dean's moobs, "Oh, I'm so sorry Jane!"_

_The mental picture of Dean's man boobs would be funny for Jane later. Right now, the possibility of Dean's baby gestating within her loomed larger. It had been well longer than fifteen minutes. Lying back on the bed, Jane sighed, bringing an end to hilarity for them both. "I'm afraid to look, Maura."_

_Maura did not sound surprised. "Jane, whatever the results, whatever you decide, I'll be here. I'll help you find good adoptive parents, or help you rear the child, or go with you to terminate. Whatever you want, I can do it." The idea of Maura raising a child with Jane was far more appealing than Dean, she had to admit. Jane's mind was filled with the image of a little version of herself running roughshod over Maura's house, introducing chaos to the orderly Isles residence, and she smiled despite herself. "Do you want me to look?" asked Maura, when it was clear Jane wasn't going to get up. Jane only trusted herself to nod, and pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes while Maura went into the bathroom._

_A few moments later the bed dipped again as Maura rejoined her. "Just tell me," sighed Jane, reluctant to uncover her face._

_Now it was Maura who hesitated. "I don't know how you're going to take this," she admitted, sounding nervous. "A lot of women say they don't want to be pregnant and then are upset when they're not." Jane stiffened and Maura took her hands gently. "So I want you to remember this. No matter what, you're not alone. You do not have to go through anything by yourself unless you want to." The only response Jane had was a stifled groan, and a steadfast refusal to open her eyes. "You're not pregnant."_

_Jane's eyes flew open. For a long time she didn't move, but just stared up at Maura's concerned face as she rode a twister of emotions. Relief. Fear. But not ambivalence — going through this with Maura was a choice she felt absolutely right about. Silently, Jane sat up, feeling suddenly weightless, released from the burden of uncertainty. "Thank you," she whispered, still looking at Maura._

_Without being asked, Maura stayed for dinner. They ate at Jane's dining table, a function the table rarely saw, and talked about little things. Maura's mother was doing well. Tommy was staying out of trouble. Joe had tussled with a skunk when Jane tried taking her jogging in the woods. Frost had tackled a perp and landed in a pile of trash so disgusting, Korsak wouldn't let him in the car. Maura's lab assistant had introduced her to new music. There was an opera performance Maura was looking forward to seeing in another month. Jane had few hopes for the Celtics this year._

_It was the first time in a month Jane's meal didn't try to make a repeat visit._

_Again without being asked, Maura spent the night. She showered and changed into pajamas, left from happier times, while Jane took Joe for a quick walk. Jane pulled on sweatpants and a hoodie before lying next to Maura on top of the sheets. In the gloam of early evening, they looked at the ceiling and Jane thought, _I've never been so scared in all my life. _Hoyt had been terrifying, but the concept of motherhood_...I'm Jane Rizzoli! I kick down doors, I hunt monsters, and I save kids. I'm a badass._ She'd been telling herself variations of that for the last three weeks, around the time the lateness of her period started being a matter of concern. Lying in bed next to Maura, however, brought up strange associations with Dean. Like the moment in history when they'd both been attracted to him._

_"Do people actually sleep at a sleepover?" Maura wondered, no more asleep than Jane was, and clearly thinking along the same track._

_"No."_

_"Did you ever go to a sleepover?"_

_"Not many," admitted Jane._

_"I'm not going to try and date Dean."_

_"No one should."_

_A long pause and Maura asked, "That bad?" At nearly the same moment, they turned their heads to look at each other. Jane's expression of disgust caused Maura to stifle a laugh, "Oh, Jane, I'm sorry. I don't mean to laugh at what was clearly a bad experience for you. I just thought he'd be good. He did look attractive. In a male sort of way. Once."_

_Jane snorted. "You mean before he was rode hard and put away wet?" That caused another burst of laughter from her friend. "You know, when I said we should show him our tits and make him decide, I didn't know he was gonna show me _his."_ Maura covered her mouth with both hands. "Moooooooooooobs, Maura. Saggy man boobs!" The snickers that leaked through Maura's mouth were contagious, and Jane started to laugh with her._

_They were going to be fine._

* * *

><p><strong>When Jane finds out she's <strong>_**not**_** pregnant, much of that paragraph is plagiarized/paraphrased from Tess Gerritsen's 'The Sinner.' Of course, in that book Jane has just left Dean a voicemail saying she's pregnant, but this is Rizzoli/Isles slash. No Dean Baby for you!**

**No more moobs! Maybe moob jokes, though. Review, please.**


	9. When She's So Cold

**Chapter Nine — When She's So Cold**

It had not taken a lot of arguing to convince Maura to let Dean into her office, if only to sweep for bugs. Still, given how much Maura disliked Dean, Jane was not surprised to see her girlfriend attempting to develop superpowers and make Dean's head explode while he ran his little bug sniffer over her office and installed a motion sensitive security camera. They'd know if anyone opened the door to Maura's office. The choice of camera had been Jane's. Dean wanted a continuous feed, filming live all the time. Without even needing to check with Maura, Jane nixed that and asked if there was a way to just record who went into or out of the office. That brought them to the still cameras, which took time-stamped snapshot of both sides of all the doors when any were opened.

Sitting in the red-orange Karim Rashid chair, Maura kept looking up at the hidden camera with open malevolence.

They'd covered the coffee table with notes from Cassandra's autopsy, and were carefully going over every aspect. The autopsy had been signed off by Dr. Ashford Tierney, Maura's predecessor as chief medical examiner. Jane hadn't much liked Dr. Tierney, a classic southern gentleman. His perpetual Georgian formality and her brash Boston bluntness had clashed many times, and all they'd had in common were the bodies that had graced his autopsy table. In contrast to her relationship with Tierney was the friendship with Maura, and Jane caught herself looking a little dreamily at the other woman.

They were supposed to be working. "Honey, he can't see you unless someone opens the door," Jane pointed out.

"I don't care," Maura replied a little waspishly. "I don't like the fact that he can see me coming and going, or the fact that there's now a time-stamped record of how long you spend in here with me. That's our business, not his, nor anyone else's who might eventually see those photographs. And, and, and I'm mad at him! He gave you so much stress the last time he came to town that you nearly developed a peptic ulcer, or don't you remember all the vomiting? Since he's not here, all I have, all I can give dirty looks to, is his damned camera. Believe me, if Gabriel Dean were to come into my office, he'd be the one getting my ire."

Reaching for the next folder, Jane smiled. "I'd rather have the ulcer than what I _thought _it was, you know." Maura didn't answer, but she stopped staring at the camera. Jane opened the ballistics report and propped her feet up on Maura's coffee table to peruse it. The bullet matched the make and model of gun they had on file for Doyle, taken from his person following his 'death.' Doyle had complained it was his favorite gun, and Jane (and Anna and Dean) had pointed out he wasn't allowed to use guns anymore. The bullet striations didn't match, however. Jane grabbed the notepad and wrote that down. "Hey, Dr. Smartypants?"

"Mmhm," Maura replied absently, still glancing up at the camera out the corner of her eye, barely listening. At the fourth or fifth fingersnap in front of her eyes, she finally swatted at the hand and let herself pay attention. "What? Stop that. What?"

Jane smirked and held the non-matching bullet photos out. "Is it just me, or does that look like a bullet that went through a scrubbed barrel?" Tapping each bullet photo in turn, Jane added, "The breech markings aren't even close, but someone screwed up the rifling big time. That wasn't accidental, right?"

"Shouldn't you be asking a ballistics expert these questions?" Maura replied, not even looking. She had boundaries. Even though she knew the answers to most questions Jane asked her in a professional capacity, there were rules, and one of them was letting the experts be the experts, not stepping on their toes.

Silently, Jane counted to ten. "Babe, if I could _get_ our ballistics experts in on this, I would." She started to move the folder away. "If you don't know, you could just say it."

Maura's lips pursed like a Tea Partier's when the Sunday drive was blocked by a Pride parade, but she reached out for the file and took a look. "Yes," she finally said after a long moment, without bothering to equivocate in the slightest.

At first. It took a few seconds, during which she looked increasingly pained, before Jane took pity and said, "Okay, go ahead, give me the wishy-washy."

Relief rushed the words right out of Maura. "It appears that way, but of course I can't state definitively without further study, and I'd like to ask a ballistics expert to have a look, if we could get one who didn't mind not being told the details of the case, because it's a very difficult call and this is a detailed and intricate discipline, and there are factors and nuances..."

"Yeah, thanks," Jane laughed huskily, grinning fondly as she warmed Maura's knee with her hand. She thought that was the end of it, but Maura had more.

"Still," said the meticulous woman as she viewed the series of photographs, "although the damage to the barrel could impede positive identification, it can't stop it altogether. If it was done purposefully, the person either didn't know how to do it thoroughly, or didn't have much time. The identification will be more difficult, but not impossible. This does look like the same barrel, but look. Here." She placed two photos in front of Jane, each from different files of the two she'd been handed. "The rifling marks are less important this time. Look at the ends of each bullet. See this mark here? It doesn't have a counterpart on this photograph of the other bullet."

Jane rolled her eyes and muttered, "I said the breech marks didn't match." But after all this time, she knew better than to raise too much of a fuss when Maura was on a roll.

Patiently Maura explained, not without a tolerant smile, "It means that these two cartridges were probably not struck by the same firing pin. Gun barrels can be switched easily, but firing pins on this model can't. Therefore, we can hypothesize the two bullets weren't likely fired by the same weapon. It also means that while we do have Doyle's gun, we don't have the one used for this shooting. Also, since the shot wasn't cause of death, we don't have any part of the murder weapon yet, only the weapon for a shooting that did not result in death."

"And that is why you're reviewing the autopsy. She got shot, went into the hospital, got sick, died at home. Tierney just signed off on it, though, he didn't actually do it." Jane put the bullet information to the side and pawed through Maura's scrupulously arranged files. "Look, the hospital just said she got an infection from the bullet." Jane yanked the one file she was looking for and put it on top. "Cassandra left AMA and didn't go back till the day before she died. She was running a temp over 107, puking her guts out. All they could do was make her comfortable. Now _that_ can't be right. Who dies of a bullet infection?"

Ever the doctor, Maura replied, "It could be MRSA."

"A murse? A guy's purse?"

Maura spared a smile at Jane, "MRSA. Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus. It's a staph bacteria highly resistant to antibiotics. However, based on the information I'm seeing in the lamentably superficial examination that Dr. Tierney performed, and because Cassandra Gerstmann left the hospital against medical advice, and with no complete history available..." She slowed, spotting Jane's hand waving in a circle and her eyes beginning to roll, "...it's not possible to say."

Through all this, Jane had followed along. "Need more data, dammit. Right. So what you're saying is the thing you'd like most in the world right now is the body exhumed and on your table?"

With a relieved expression, Maura nodded, "That would make this immensely easier, yes."

Jane grinned. "Well, that is part of why having a wee FBI agent," she said in mockingly sweet tones, "at my beck and call is a _good_ thing. It'll give him something to do while you decide how much we should to tell Vince and Barry about this."

* * *

><p>With Dean off at FBI HQ wrangling permission to exhume the body of Cassandra Gerstmann, and Maura working to prevent a backlog from her normal cases, Jane decided it was the perfect time to take over his office. Frost was at the secured computer, going over all the digital information, while Korsak and Jane were re-reading the case notes. The three were working together in the easy companionship they often shared. Unlike, for example, Detectives Vann and Dunleavy. Everyone called those two 'Sam and Frodo.' The fat hobbit and the skinny one, they'd been partners so long they acted like an old married couple, and probably spent more time together than they did with their wives. They even finished each other's sentences. There was an office pool as to when they'd start dressing in matching outfits.<p>

At one point in time, Jane thought she and Korsak might become that kind of partnership. And then there had been Hoyt.

_"You're benching me?" Jane shouted at Korsak, incredulous. She knew she looked ridiculous, with a bruise covering half her face and her hair frizzed out from the August humidity. The ice pack she was supposed to be holding to her face fell into her lap._

_Her partner, the guy who was supposed to teach her everything about being a detective, Vince Korsak, huffed. "You shot an unarmed perp, Rizzoli."_

_"He hit me with a trowel! Look at my face! Ask Moore!"_

_Thomas Moore looked over from his desk silently. While the case was, technically, still Rizzoli and Korsak's, the more experienced homicide detective had been 'loaned' to them. It was Jane's first serial, had been the excuse. Saint Thomas was deemed reliable and dependable, but Jane just saw him as a threat to her career. He would take the case away. "I reported what I saw," he said, in that quiet, calm voice._

_Jane's blood ran cold._

_Yes, she'd shot an unarmed man. She'd thought he had another weapon, in the heat of the moment. And maybe if she kept telling herself that, Jane could convinced herself that she hadn't destroyed her career. Karl Pacheco had attacked her, that couldn't be disputed, as the throbbing in her face reminded her. With every heartbeat, the pain crescendoed into a burst of agony, but Jane refused to cry or show weakness. The humiliation she endured every day, the snubs and insults of being the only female detective, and the unending torment from the Darren Crowes of the world had shrunk into a pinpoint of rage when she'd shot an unarmed man._

_And Thomas Moore, Saint Fucking Thomas, was not going to cover for her._

_To make it worse, Pacheco wasn't their perp, he wasn't the Surgeon. He was just a first rate scumbag who liked slipping girls roofies and raping them. Moore was convinced it all led back to Andrew Capra, the man who had attacked Catherine Cordell in Savannah. The man Cordell had killed. _Well, you're sleeping with her_, thought Jane, as she watched Korsak walk into Lieutenant Marquette's office, Moore following them._ Wait till Marquette learns about that._ The fury that had consumed Jane fell away. _No, I won't do that_._

_Even though she felt betrayed, Jane couldn't bring herself to ruin someone else's career, just because she'd torpedoed her own. That wouldn't bring her dream back. It would have been bad enough to have Korsak flunk her as a homicide detective, and have to slink back to Vice. But to lose everything, her entire life as a cop because of this stupid, stupid mistake, was untenable. _I did this to myself. I let my anger, my rage, get the better of me and I made a mistake. I won't do this again. I will learn from this and be better. My job is to hunt monsters and bring them to justice. I am not a killer. This is not the kind of cop I'm going to be.

_And Jane's anger was washed away. Now what? Jane closed her eyes, pressing the icepack to her face in the hopes of containing the swelling. Already she looked like she'd been hit with a firetruck, and the mottled bruise was_..._ horrific. Her mother was going to pitch a fit. This was no time to think about Angela Rizzoli and her fears. They had a killer on the loose, and Moore was convinced it led back to Capra. _But Capra's dead, and Cordell was drugged. She doesn't remember much._ Jane reached for her notes and re-read them._

_What if Capra had a partner? What if the surgeon learned his business at the hands of Capra, and after Cordell shot him, killed Capra himself and moved. Set up shop in Boston? That would explain the inconsistencies in the ballistics report, the strange memory they'd drawn from Cordell, via hypnosis, of a second voice._

_Jane had a lot of time to think about her theory when Marquette took her off the case three days later. "I argued against it, Rizzoli," Korsak said, "But Marquette said, with the shooting and all..."_

_"He said what?"_

_To Korsak's benefit, he was reluctant when he finished: "That you're no longer an asset to the unit."_

_Translation: Jane's career was toast._

_She sat alone at her desk. Not even Crowe, who'd finished his probationary period as a detective only a month before Jane had started, talked to her. This, from a man who spent most of his waking hours giving her crap, told Jane everything. They all knew, she was a dead woman walking. Shut out. A bad shooting didn't always ruin your career, she knew intellectually, but Jane knew it would destroy hers. Not even her probationary partner had her back._

_On Marquette's orders, Jane started to pack up her things to go home for the day. The week. Her suspension was not formal yet, but she knew it was coming. As she pulled her drawers open, Jane's eyes fell on a photo of Elena Ortiz, their latest victim, and realized she couldn't surrender. On Korsak's desk were the dismissed papers of one of their suspects. The one Jane was sure was their killer. Warren Hoyt._

_Having already done one phenomenally stupid thing, Jane followed it up with a second. She took Korsak's files and read them. Jane followed the money, Hoyt's ATM transactions, to New Hampshire, but also Lithia, Mass. She followed the hair and fiber analysis on Ortiz to Hoyt, but also to the stalking of Cordell. She followed the anomaly, a long hair from an Asian, and read the reports from the cops in Lithia._

_"Korsak," she snapped, as soon as he walked back into the room. "That long black hair they found in Hoyt's bathroom is East Asian."_

_The burly man blinked. Not for the first time, Jane wished he'd grow a damn beard. It would make him look more friendly. "So?"_

_"So, it could be a vic we missed."_

_"We talked about that this morning, in the meeting." The meeting Jane wasn't allowed to attend. "Look, Rizzoli. Go home. I'll talk to Marquette, see if he'll let you work the case from a desk." But not even Korsak sounded like he believed that would happen. There was no sympathy in his voice, no consolation. Just the facts, ma'am._

_Jane struggled for a moment, but remembered the lesson her rage had forced upon her. She exhaled and nodded. Anger without direction was dangerous. She was never going to let her anger control her again. Focus. She picked up the papers on her desk, shoved them in her bag, and left the precinct. In her car, Jane found a map of New England and stared at it. Two choices. Nashua in New Hampshire or Lithia in western Massachusetts. _

_No one was going to salvage Jane's career for her. The only way to do that was to get Hoyt herself._

"Hey, Jane, remember Sleeper?" asked Korsak, shattering the far too vivid memories. Jane looked at the backs of her hands, physical reminders of how that day had ended. "Jane?" Korsak sounded concerned.

"Sleeper," she replied, kicking her brain into gear. "Ed Sleeper? Yeah, he was Crowe's partner when he got his gold badge." Sleeper had been worn out by the time he was assigned to work with Crowe, and near the end just let Crowe run over him. "Didn't you guys sing 'I Am Woman' at his retirement party?"

Frost looked amused. "When was this?" he asked, pushing the keyboard aside.

Rubbing the scar tissue on her hands, Jane grinned. "Just before your time." Jane's hand had still been bandaged, but she'd just started back at desk work the week of the party. Contrary to her near firing over the shooting, Jane's return had been the cause of celebration. She'd been smarter than the FBI and caught Hoyt. Even Crowe was impressed. Sleeper had held off his retirement until she'd gotten back. "What about him, Vince?"

"We sang 'A Natural Woman.' And Sleeper worked the Gerstmann shooting, _and_ her death. That means none of his notes are gonna be in the new system." Dimly Jane remembered Sleeper saying that they could digitize his reports on their own time, he was moving to Arizona.

Frost groaned. "You mean we're going to have to spend a day in the archives, looking for everything? Can't we call him?"

The big man shook his head, "No can do. Sleeper stroked out on his flight out."

"That's suspicious," remarked Frost, dryly.

"You never met Sleeper," Jane commented. "He was a poster child for bad health."

"That's why I started losing weight." Vince patted his much shrunken belly. "We gonna go through the records tonight?"

Jane closed her eyes and slumped in the chair, thinking about that. "We've got enough here to get us started on any leads Sleeper or Tierney missed. And Cavanaugh wants us to keep up with our other cases. Let's wait till we get the body, and Maura can tell us what we're looking for." She didn't like the idea of a blind search any more than Frost did.

Shutting down the computer, Frost agreed. "When are we getting that anyway? The body?"

"Day after tomorrow at the earliest. Dean's following up on the relatives, but he doesn't think there'll be a problem." Jane stretched and noticed how antsy Barry was looking, "Hot date, Frost?"

Barry grinned, "Anna's in town. I'm taking her out to a fancy French place the Doc suggested." When more than one person proceeded to tell him to just leave already, he needed no further urging to head home and get ready for his date.

Neither Jane nor Vince made motion to leave yet, the contemplations of the day were weighing heavily on them. Or at least on Jane. "Anna working on your case?" asked Vince as he tidied up the papers.

Jane hated lying to Vince, but it was easier than lying to Maura. Not by much. "I was thinking about Pacheco," she said, in lieu of answering his question. Vince startled. "You asked what you did to make me not trust you? That was it. It was stupid, too, I know it, Vince, but I was so damn mad at you, and Moore, at the time."

Her partner, her friend, deflated and sighed. "I was trying to treat you like I'd treat anybody... You know how Sleeper handled Crowe? Just let Darren run over him and do what he wanted? And you know how crap Crowe is as a detective because he doesn't play well with others?" Jane nodded, slowly, trying to follow the train of thought. "Well, I saw that in you. All that anger, all that rage. And I thought... I _knew _if I couldn't help you get it under control, you'd be like him." When Jane started to laugh, Korsak looked affronted, "I'm not kidding!"

"It's not that, Vince," Jane chuckled. "It worked. I mean... You did right. I was thinking how shooting Pacheco made me realize what kind of cop I wanted to be." She looked over at the man with a smile. "And I wanted to be like you."

Vince Korsak brightened. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she confirmed.

She and Vince were going to be just fine.

* * *

><p><strong>Vann and Dunleavey (and much of their descriptions) are lifted directly from "Body Double," by Tess Gerritsen. If you've read "The Surgeon," then the bones of Jane's flashback are familiar. While not lifted wholesale, much like Brophy, the concept of that storyline was taken and cut down to fit the TV Jane Rizzoli, and to address the tension between Jane and Vince in the pilot episode. Ed Sleeper is also from the book series, and yes, he's Crowe's partner.<strong>

**Reviews and Korsak will do karaoke. Eventually.**


	10. Tonight, Rizzoli, Tonight

**Chapter Ten — Tonight, Rizzoli. Tonight.**

"What the...?" Jane wondered as she unlocked the door to Maura's place and ushered her girlfriend in ahead of herself. The lights were low, with candles flickering here and there all throughout the great room, and heavenly smells came from the kitchen, where Angela Rizzoli stood in one of her favorite aprons, just pulling a pie out of the oven.

She turned around at the younger women's entrance and grinned hugely. "Janie! Maura! Good, you're here right on time. Now, I want you to go get showered and clean and relaxed, and then come in and eat dinner. I set the table and took care of everything, so all you have to do is just enjoy each other."

"How sweet!" Maura gushed, particularly at the sight of a roasted chicken resting atop the range; it would probably go into the oven right away, now that the pie was out, to give the skin its final crisping. Yep, there it went. "What's the occasion, Angela?"

"What do you want?" Jane half translated, half accused her mother. She'd learned to be wary, over years of coming home to beautiful dinners and finding out that there was a blind date involved just about every single time.

Angela had the gall to look hurt. "A mother can't cook a nice dinner for her daughters?" She used the plural pointedly, thereby enlisting Maura to come and fight for her side. Jane knew full well that Maura hadn't always had such a close relationship with her own mother. Surely she wouldn't try to rob her of this surrogate relationship, her raised eyebrow seemed to challenge?

But she would. "It looks great, Ma. What's the favor?" she demanded, even as she checked her service weapon, put her keys and small change on the dish just inside the door, and made her way towards the bedroom to divest herself of cellphone and service weapon. She paused, though, just before going through the archway that would take her out of answering range.

Maura put away her coat, gloves, the scarf she tied on to keep the wind and snow out of her hair, and her fashionably rugged snow boots before coming to Angela's aid. "Whatever the reason, I think it's nice. May I help?" she offered with a brief but warm squeeze of one of Angela's upper arms.

"You missed your anniversary," Angela said by way of both answer and accusation, "didn't you?"

"Um," Jane wanted to dither, but Maura beat her to the punch with a more definitive, "Yes. Jane was out of town for work."

"So," Angela concluded, "I'm going to spend the night at Carla Talucci's. We haven't had a real sleepover since before she got married, and we used to have them all the time in high school. You two need privacy."

Unlike Jane, Maura didn't even have the courtesy to realize she _should _blush, let alone could she manage it. "We can close the window. I thought you said you couldn't hear me when we closed the window." By now, her noisiness wasn't embarrassing to any of them, not even to Jane, though Jane's own quietness sometimes was. "And Jane got you those nice, noise-cancelling headphones..."

"Which work great!" the elder Rizzoli, now default clan matriarch despite having married into it, enthused. "But now that Carla's husband has passed, we're both single, and we thought, hey, why not have a sleepover like when we were kids? We were best friends. Sort of like you two used to be, only not quite."

"Oh, God," Jane muttered, and finally left the conversation to the two who wouldn't be mortified by it. "I'm going to shower," she called back, on her way up the stairs. "Maura, _do not_ start talking details with my mother!"

Both Maura and Angela cast a glance in that direction, and both chuckled. "She's such a prude," Angela remarked with a wink. "Honestly, sometimes I wonder if she thinks I thought she was a virgin till you showed up!"

"Well, she seems to think you still are," Maura deadpanned, "so I suppose anything's possible. Theoretically." Then her wink ruined what was shaping up to be a much-improved poker face and she leaned in. "So, what's really going on?"

Angela leaned over to make certain her daughter was out of hearing reach. "It really is about you two making up for your anniversary, but now that you mention it, I need to ask you something and you can't tell Janie. She'd just tell me I was being gross."

Maura's head tilted, inviting more information. "I can keep private matters confidential." Quickly she performed a mental and visual scan of Angela's appearance: Hunched shoulders, lowered voice, eyes darting towards the archway leading to the staircase, mouth barely moving when she spoke. Secrets; embarrassment; expectancy. Accordingly, Maura lowered her voice as well, and pulled her shoulders slightly down and forward, indicating that she understood the situation at hand. "And I won't judge."

"What do you use?" Angela asked, without further explanation.

Maura was quiet for several seconds before realizing that there would not be clarification of the question until she requested it. "What do I use for what?"

"For... your... _self._" This time, Angela was so quiet and her lips moved barely at all, that Maura had a hard time even understanding.

With nothing else to go on, Maura was stymied. "I'm sorry, Angela, but I don't..."

Angela gritted her teeth, growing red in the face. "What do you _use_... by yourself? Or... not by yourself, for all I know, but I'm not asking what you do with my daughter, you understand?"

Suddenly, Maura flashed to a similarly low-pitched, teeth-gritted moment of Jane's _—_ _You mean a dildo?_ _—_ and she _knew _that Angela was asking the same question. Her own voice became the next best thing to a whisper, not for her own sake, but for Angela's. _So much for Jane being the prude, _she thought. "Do you want to go shopping with me this weekend? I can show you some things. Non-biological... items that would be helpful for a... newly single person." She'd have been perfectly happy discussing the use of toys in more open terms, and in a normal, conversational tone, but Angela seemed to need more discretion, and Maura could accommodate that desire.

Angela looked grateful. "Yes. But don't tell Janie," she repeated somewhat hurriedly, then stepped away to put the chicken in the oven just as Jane came floating down the stairs in skinny jeans, a newish black T-shirt, and towel-dried hair.

"Hey, what's going on?" Jane asked with a smile, clearly feeling much better thanks to the fastest shower in the history of ever. "Ma, you better not be asking my girlfriend about details."

"She's not," Maura promised, kissing Jane on the cheek as she headed upstairs. "I was just... expressing gratitude for tonight, and volunteering to be a good daughter-in-law. We're going shopping Saturday afternoon."

Angela perked up immediately as she closed the oven and turned around. "Daughter-in-law? You're getting married?"

_"NO, Ma!" _Jane insisted. "It's a figure of speech. That hasn't been discussed, and don't pressure us."

Maura laughed all the way up the stairs to her turn in the shower.

* * *

><p>Getting to sleep at a decent hour two days in a row was uncommon for Jane, even in the best of times, which meant she was wide awake a little too early. As the winter sun rose, she stretched her long form across her half of Maura's bed and watched the other woman sleep. Or so she thought. "Go back to sleep, Jane," Maura muttered, eyes firmly closed.<p>

"I can't enjoy this if I'm asleep." Jane rolled onto her side and draped an arm over Maura's waist, capturing the Big Spoon spot. "This is way better than waking up in bed alone."

While Jane could remember life before Maura, every morning had been a struggle to get up, get moving and get going. Now, yes, there were mornings when she still wanted to stay in bed, but they weren't the old reasons. Jane wasn't afraid of taking on the misogynistic old boy's club of Boston PD, and she wasn't afraid of being seen as 'just' a girl. Somewhere in the last five years, she'd managed to drop those problems. Of course she had newer, bigger problems now, but facing those with Maura was a lot easier than doing it alone.

"You're thinking," complained Maura, snuggling closer to Jane's warmth.

"I'm thinking about you," Jane countered, keeping her voice soft. Maura snorted, in her most unladylike fashion, but Jane could see the smile on her cheek. Kissing Maura's shoulder, Jane relaxed in the warmth of their bed, watching the pre-dawn light pick up the colors of Maura's hair. _What color is it?_ she wondered, not for the first time. _I'm pretty sure 'sexy' isn't an acceptable answer to that question, too._ That said, it might get her style points, and Jane made a note to later ask Maura how to factor those into their ongoing points game.

No more asleep than Jane, Maura wriggled her hands out from the blankets to take hold of Jane's hand. She started to investigate Jane's fingers, the webbing between, and then the scars. Every once in a while, Maura would just look at Jane's hands like that, as if she were an explorer studying them. For whatever reason, Jane no longer felt self-conscious when Maura did that, any more than she did when Maura investigated the scars on her torso. When Maura looked at her, she never saw the damaged Jane, and yes, Jane knew she was. Maura just saw _Jane_.

It gave Jane butterflies in a good way.

Jane wasn't always this comfortable in her own skin, and certainly not in her own skin with Maura. Heck, Maura practically had to drag her out of state to push their relationship past the will-they/won't-they stage. Jane snickered at the thought.

Maura stopped running her fingers up Jane's arm and asked, "What are you thinking about?"

"When you kidnapped me."

* * *

><p><em>They'd been trying to date properly for months, but there was always some damned thing getting in the way. Cases, work, Rizzoli drama, Maura's mother coming to visit again, the conference at which Maura taught and three more she'd attended, bonding exercises with Korsak and Frost which were apparently mandatory between the three of them, and the weekends — and sometimes, a week or longer — in which Jane would simply vanish, going incommunicado for an unpredictable length of time and returning looking drained and speaking in monosyllables. <em>

_Somehow, in spite of all those obstacles, they'd managed it. There had been Shakespeare in the park, that last gasp of 'summer' theater before the cold weather put an end to it; a hay ride, a first for Maura, as was the haunted house that preceded it that day, and the following, watching scary/funny movies while little kids rang Maura's doorbell and were rewarded with far more candy than was the going rate; a performance by the Boston Pops, and another by Stomp. Thanksgiving, when Maura and the Rizzolis gathered for food and togetherness, and both women had to restrain themselves from stating what they were actually most thankful for that year. After everyone had left for their respective homes, they'd turned on a DVD of _White Christmas_ and pretended to watch it, but instead they'd kept glancing at each other, playing with each other's hands, and had eventually hemmed and hawed and decided that they might just make a go of it. _

_Christmas season had been replete with parties of friends and families and precinct. Maura had had the audacity to devise a wreath for her hair made entirely of mistletoe and holly sprigs, and had of course been very popular, because she didn't turn down a single kiss — though she sometimes turned her head so as to receive them on the cheek. It was no less than a dare for Jane, and Jane knew it the moment that some of her sisters in blue started taking advantage of the situation, making Maura smile and laugh genuinely. She'd been more conservative, giving her a quick buss on the temple when handing over a glass of something vaguely alcoholic, but only because not doing so at that point would have stood out. _

_New Year's, they'd had the good sense to go elsewhere. Namely, Jane's apartment, where they cuddled on the sofa, talked about nothing, watched the ball drop, commented on Dick Clark's complete detachment from anything resembling nature, and kissed at the stroke of midnight with sparkles in their eyes. The sparkles were there because Jane hadn't made herself take down the Christmas tree yet, but they were there, right enough, so that was all right. _

_Maura had planned a special evening for Valentine's Day. Beautiful meal, dress to the nines, dancing at a club mostly frequented by women, and home for some predictable romancing. That date had not materialized. They'd gotten dressed up, and just as Maura was pulling dinner from the take-away boxes and setting the table, Angela had come over. "I saw you come in and I thought, well, as long as none of us has dates, we might as well spend Valentine's Day commiserating, right?" She looked so hopeful, and so lonely, that not even Jane had the heart to tell her mother to get lost. She had instead been ordered — by Maura, no less — to go put on something gorgeous so they could all look and feel special that night. In the end it was still a beautiful night, but not quite what she'd had in mind, and she could have sworn it wasn't really what Jane had had in mind, either._

_So when Jane was called out of town that next weekend, Maura swung into gear. Lieutenant Cavanaugh had agreed that both of them could stand to take a few days off, starting the day Rizzoli got back. "Take that whole week," he ordered, and Maura left before he could change his mind. Though history had already proven Jane wouldn't answer her phone, Maura still left her a message, asking her to call when she was about to get on the plane and say what time Maura should pick her up. Then she'd made one other phone call, so that her plan would come to fruition in the right way. After that, the only thing left was to pack._

_Sunday morning, the start of the week after Valentine's Day, Maura met Jane at the airport. She didn't know there had been three different modes of transportation to get Jane there. She only knew that in her trunk were the things they would need for the following week, and that there was no need to mention those things to Jane. "You look terrible," she stated baldly as Jane walked out from the airport and into the pickup area. She'd lost maybe five pounds, but on a lean frame like hers, they were five pounds she couldn't afford to do without, and there was strong darkening of the nasojugal folds. Her eyes drooped and refused to focus, but still she smiled (weakly) and hugged Maura as tightly as her limp arms could manage. "Poor thing. Did you use the bathroom in the airport, or do you need to make a stop?"_

_"M'fine," Jane replied as she struggled with her suitcase, frowning._

_Maura took the handle, pointed Jane towards the passenger side of the car, and placed Jane's carry-on in the trunk of her car, atop the trunk's other cargo. By the time she got in and fastened her own seatbelt, Jane was buckled in and asleep, face smooshed against the window._

_Two hours later, Maura pulled over at a rest stop that looked like a log cabin, with a neon sign advertising the best gingerbread on the Eastern Seaboard. "Sweetheart," she said, gently stroking Jane's forearm. "Jane. Baby, do you need the bathroom? Something to eat or drink?"_

_She kept whispering endearments as Jane swam up from the bottom of the tar pit of exhaustion, blinked, and looked around. "We're not in Kansas," she said, eyes wide with the effort of focusing._

_"Correct," Maura replied. "We're at a rest stop. Do you need to go?"_

_"Nuh-uh," Jane grunted, and almost immediately went back to sleep. Maura let her, though she went inside for two bottles of water and some gingerbread to go. _

_Just over two hours later, she tried again. "Jane. We're here, baby. Do you want to go inside, and I'll bring in our things?"_

_This time, Jane paid attention. She didn't look truly all there, but she was a bit better off for the four hour nap. "Where are we?"_

_"Maine. We're at my cabin."_

_"That," Jane said as her eyes went round, "is not a cabin. Maura, the entire von Trapp family could live there and never even see each other." It was made to look like a log cabin, but it bore little resemblance to the rustic hovel Jane would have meant if she had spoken about her cabin — if she'd had one. In fact, it looked more like a full-sized home, quaint and pretty, but not tiny. Something like a modern, wealthy person thought of as "roughing it." Picturesque as hell._

_Long since past any reaction to exaggeration other than chuckling, Maura simply pushed her fingers into one pocket and came out with a key, which she handed over. "Go inside and sit down somewhere, and I'll be right in with our things. If you need a bathroom, there's one just inside and to the left. I won't be long. Just relax."_

_It spoke for Jane's fatigued state that even after going inside and making use of the facilities followed by the couch, she couldn't really make sense of their location. "Seriously, Maur," she said as the smaller woman brought in the last of three suitcases, only one of which Jane had brought with her to wherever she went when she went there. "Where the hell are we?"_

_Maura recited the GPS coordinates, the exact distance in miles from Jane's apartment, then added, "In other words, Islesboro, Maine. The cabin was a gift. My father thought I might need a place to go and regroup once in a while, so he gave me this as a graduation present."_

_Looking around the cabin, Jane muttered, "Geeze. All Pop got me when I graduated was the pizza and beer to help me move." Her brain started to move in gear again, and Jane circled the front room. "Okay, so I'm in Maine, in a cabin in the woods —" Jane paused to verify this by looking out the window. "This is either a set up to kill me, or a romantic getaway. Did you pack sexy things or an axe?"_

_Maura hesitated. "The axe is just for chopping firewood, I promise. And I didn't pack it. It's already here." Her hands rubbed together as if to either warm each other or to prepare her for a change in topic. "How do you feel? Would you like to just get a shower and take a nap, or would you like me to show you around first?"_

_Instead of asking what time it was, Jane looked at the fancy watch Maura had given her for Christmas. "I landed at 11am. So it's probably five at night. Or I was asleep longer than I thought." She smirked at Maura. "I would like to, in order, get a tour, shower, brush my teeth, eat something, and then_..._" Jane trailed off looking around the cabin. "Well. Then we'll see." Helen Keller wouldn't have been able to miss the signs Maura was throwing out right now. This was a sexy-time cabin. Jane flushed as she thought about exactly what Maura's intentions were, but no way was she going to object. This was what they were moving towards, right? Right._

_Or was it? A second look around told Jane that, her car-dreaming aside, this was really just a standard cabin, albeit a lush version thereof. It wasn't a lumberjack's or trapper's place, but a sort of faux-rustic resort. There was no bearskin rug, not that that kind of thing would've gotten her in the mood. Gross. Nor was Maura's demeanor actually all that different from what it was like all the time. _Janie, girl, you've got sex on the brain,_ she told herself, then firmly added, _Quit that.

_Maura was just saying, "...built by someone who clearly had never spent any time in an actual log cabin, but that's actually an advantage. The original builder-slash-owner couldn't stand the idea of living without indoor plumbing, electricity, a phone line... We'll be as comfortable here as we would be at either of our homes. The chief advantage is distance. Lieutenant Cavanaugh as much as ordered me to take you someplace where you couldn't be reached, so no one would be tempted to interrupt our retreat." At some point, she'd led them on a tour of the downstairs, which included a smallish guest bedroom and full bath, kitchen that appeared fully stocked as if they'd done a grocery run while Jane had been asleep, the main room which Jane had already seen and which functioned as a living room, dining room (complete with gorgeous farmhouse trestle table, chairs, and a long bench down one side). The downstairs revolved around a central fireplace, made entirely of large, river-rounded stones, large enough to warm the entire area with the fire that was already laid, but not lit. _

_Rather than show Jane upstairs yet, Maura pointed out not just the rooms, but also the little touches here and there. "I found this wagon wheel at an antique shop here in town. It actually has provenance — this wheel made three trips on the Oregon Trail and back before the owner sold the wagon and retired, having guided dozens of families out to new lives in the West. I have the documentation in the upstairs office. This is a picture of my first ballet performance." A tiny, chubby child in a soft pink tutu, hands overhead as if holding a beach ball, turned to look at the slightly taller child next to her, who held the position with more poise, looking very grown-up for a four-year-old, next to the chubbier one, who couldn't have been more than two. "I'm the little one with the belly."_

_Knickknacks, photographs, antiques: each one had a story, and though she didn't offer every story, Jane knew that they were waiting to be told. This, more than the house in which she lived most of her life, was _her space._ No decorator had touched it. "I made these curtains the first time I stayed here. I got out of the shower and found myself nearly face to face with a neighbor at the door who'd come to bring a pot of coffee and a basket of biscuits to welcome me to the area." She pointed at the door: mostly glass. "Apparently I'm still known as Lady Godiva, to those who lived here then."_

_Jane stared at the door for a moment and then, decisively, wrapped both arms around Maura's waist. It was a much more complete hug than the one at the airport. "Why do I get the feeling you just chatted away with your neighbor, buck naked, thanked 'em for the food, and _then_ went to put on a robe?" _

_"That is not... exactly... what happened," Maura denied with a self-conscious chuckle. "Anyway, that was how I met Mrs. Hudson. It turned out that she wasn't really a neighbor so much as a caretaker. She tends the place when I'm away, and in return, lives in the other house on the island, rent-free. It's a good deal for us both."_

_Jane cuddled the shorter woman closer. The cabin felt like a safe, warm place. Where accidentally greeting your neighbors in your all-together was amusing and not mortifying. Resting her head on Maura's shoulder, Jane admired the homeliness of it all._

_"Are you falling asleep again?" questioned Maura, when Jane's introspective silence dragged on for what was, apparently, too long._

_"No. But I smell like an airplane, and a car ride, and my mouth feels like something died in it. Shower." _

_"Upstairs," Maura redirected. "The downstairs is for guests. Upstairs is for... I mean, unless you'd rather have your own space." Ah. There it was, the evidence of intentions Jane only thought she saw before. She paused, thought about it, then nodded. In deference to Maura's opinion about kissing when one's mouth tasted like evidence, Jane settled for a promising brush of her lips to Maura's neck before bounding up the stairs into the shower to wash away the lingering fingers of Florida and all its connotations. She did, however, leave the door open halfway. "Would you bring me my toothbrush and stuff, Maura?"_

_"Sure," Maura agreed as she grabbed Jane's bags and followed her upstairs. With effort, she kept her eyes lowered to the floor and the bathroom sink, not looking towards the glass-walled shower, nor at the mirror that would show it in reflection. She set down the grooming kit of Jane's grooming supplies on the left side, just where her left-handed girlfriend liked her things to be, and backed out of the room, congratulating herself on having avoided taking advantage of the view._

_Nothing, however, could stop _Jane_ taking advantage of the view. Specifically, the view out the shower window, which was just low enough to let Maura look outside if she stepped up to it, but would conceal Jane below the shoulders if she stood back and under the spray. As Maura unpacked their clothes in the bedroom, Jane stared, half-shampooed hair ignored, at the one part of the horizon she hadn't expected. "Maur?" she called out uncertainly. "Are we on an island?"_

_"Yes," came the pleasant voice from the bedroom, the wonders of which Jane hadn't fully grasped in her rush to get the airplane stench off her skin. "You slept through the ferry ride." Maura continued to remove the few clean garments Jane had packed from her suitcase, along with the ones she'd brought in the second bag, and toss the dirty ones down a hidden chute to the laundry basket in the downstairs bathroom. _

_"And what did you say the name of the island was?" Idly, Jane resumed soaping her body, glancing in the mirror without really realizing she was doing so. Maura wasn't facing this way, which meant that Jane could watch her as she dealt with the chore of unpacking._

_Maura tucked away the last of the clean clothes and closed the last drawer, oblivious to Jane's scrutiny. She'd been doing a good job of not looking in the direction of the open bathroom door. Jane was so tired; she couldn't view that open door as an invitation, much though she'd love for it to be one. "The island? It's just part of the town that you can see from the window in there."_

_"Then what's the name of the town?" queried Jane as she reached for a razor and began to shave. It crossed her mind that it was a little bit odd that her own preferred type of razor was in one of the two holders, along with her favorite body wash and hair products, right alongside the froufrou types that populated Maura's guest bathroom and presumably her master bath, which Jane had never seen._

_Maura hesitated, gazing out the bedroom window. Rather than the town, it faced the opposite direction, which meant nothing but further-offshore islands and ocean. "It's Islesboro."_

_"Any relation?"_

_"Yes and no," Maura explained. She glanced towards the bathroom, then quickly away; she hadn't meant to do that. "The town is a boro — borough — which includes an island, hence the name. But when my father was choosing a parcel of land, he chose this one because he thought I'd think it was cute."_

_Jane smiled as she ducked her head under the spray to rinse off soap and conditioner. "I think it's cute," she admitted, and turned off the water. Surprisingly, Jane felt immeasurably better than she had getting off the plane. The nap in the car, just in Maura's presence, had restored her energy levels. Of course, her reflection in the mirror showed a skinny and tired Rizzoli, which couldn't be as sexy as normal, but it had been six months of soul draining work to get her this tired. It might take just as long to get back to normal. She roughly dried off and picked the longer of the two robes, wrapping it around herself before creating a monument of hair. "I feel so much better, babe," announced Jane, taking in the bedroom for the first time._

_It was a very comfortable room, hardwood with plenty of rugs to soften the feel underfoot. Though the appearance was even more rustic than the downstairs areas, the comfort level was higher, thanks to a fire that Maura had lit while Jane wasn't looking. Good oak and apple wood sparked and crackled merrily, throwing shadows onto the log walls. There were no closets, but two cedar armoires stood ready to receive any clothes that wouldn't do well in the chest-o'-drawers, which were also cedar, but not of exactly the same pattern. In fact, nothing matched, giving the room a homey eclecticism that Maura's actual residence lacked. Then again, the formality of that home was a bit more majestic, and it was easy to suppose that it made a more favorable first impression for those who liked that sort of thing, as most of Maura's family and acquaintances did._

_One thing that the cabin lacked was the usual complement of game heads, antlers, and fur rugs that Jane had almost expected to see in something so close to being a man-cave. Where those might have looked at home, there were instead quilts, photographs, and mountable objects such as what looked to be a hundred-year-old snow shoe, or an entire outfit from... Jane searched her memory of historical geography lessons... an Iroquois woman? Something like that._

_And then, of course, there was her girlfriend, shoes off, laying out a sinfully comfortable looking nightgown to don in a little while. "Don't tell me you're going to be wearing that," Jane couldn't stop herself from saying with a light smirk._

_Maura whirled around, eyes wide and growing wider as she stared, dazed. "Robe," she mentioned, nodding at the one Jane was wearing. Fuzzy terrycloth, utterly figure-concealing in shape, but tied just about loosely enough to be dangerous if she moved. "Good. I mean, it's good you found it. I'm... shower."_

_"Hang on," Jane requested, and stepped closer to Maura, hands lightly resting on the ME's hips. "Thank you for driving us five hours to this serial killer cabin." And she returned her lips to kissing the side of Maura's neck, just enough to make Maura start to squirm._

_"Aren't you tired?" whispered Maura, still stretching her neck to give Jane more access. _

_And Jane stopped. "Not so much as I'm hungry." With one last kiss to Maura's neck, Jane stepped away. "I'm going to go see what this mysterious Mrs. Hudson left in your fancy kitchen. You're gonna shower and put on that other robe. And_..._ we'll see where it goes."_

_"Mmhm," Maura hummed in the wake of the kiss, and opened her eyes to realize Jane was already headed downstairs. Then her eyes snapped further open. See where it goes? _I hope she left me some cold water,_ came the thought unbidden, and she walked, none too steadily, into the bathroom for her own shower. "Mrs. Hudson leaves notes on the refrigerator, Jane."_

_Just as Maura was getting settled in the shower, Jane popped her head in. "Hey, does 'save room for lobster tomorrow' mean what I think it does?" While Maura had done her best to discreetly give Jane some privacy and not look at her while she showered, apparently Jane didn't share that feeling right now, and was getting an eye full of Maura in the shower. "Uh_..._"_

_While Maura was surprised, the slack jaw expression that took over Jane's face was pleasing. Rendering someone mute with just the sight of her body was one of her greatest powers. "Her sons are lobstermen," Maura replied. "Do you want to go with them?"_

_That brought Jane out of her obvious appreciation for Maura's form. "Go fishing? No. Nooooo. No. I don't fish. Lobster." She took the towel off her hair and hung it on a hook. "Whatever. Your Mrs. Hudson left us shepherd's pie. I'm heating it up in the oven." With one last look at the showering Maura, Jane grinned and went downstairs._

_They ate dinner on the couch in their bathrobes, hair drying to near-equal levels of curly frizz, much to Jane's amusement. "Tell the truth, Maura. How hard do you have to work to make your hair look like it usually looks?"_

_"An hour to dry it evenly, another half-hour for rollers, a twice-weekly conditioning oil or cream," Maura estimated as she cleared their dishes into the kitchen, "and about once every two months I go to see André, my stylist, who performs some sort of miracle so that I can stay glossy and sleek. My colorist, Nina, also earns her pay quite nicely. Why do you ask?"_

_"Because you look like," Jane paused, then grinned; why not? "You look like me, only shorter and closer to blonde, or red, or whatever the hell color that is."_

_"Honey-brown," Maura supplied easily, "with butterscotch highlights and caramel lowlights." Nina apparently had a penchant for sweets. "Am I shaggy right now, or curly, or just a big mess?"_

_Jane was just about aware enough, as she put the food away, to claim that it was curly. "But," she added as she closed the fridge and snuck up behind Maura for a quick nuzzle, "I could mess that up for you a little bit. Hm?" Without either of them consciously deciding to do so, their hips began to sway side to side, like dancing._

_"I think," Maura started, then cleared her throat, which had gone dry enough to turn her speaking voice almost as raspy as Jane's, "I think we need to get upstairs."_

* * *

><p>"I could kidnap you again, you know," Maura murmured as she turned to face and embrace her lover, then lean back in a mute suggestion: this is my body. You need to be on top of that. "Any time you like. Just say the word, and I'll spirit you off to my serial killer cabin and have my way with you."<p>

Jane scooted to oblige Maura's suggestion. "Soon as we finish this case, I might kidnap you myself."

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><p><strong>There is a real Islesboro, Maine, which we just had to use when we saw it. However, this is <strong>_**not**_** the real Islesboro, so any and all inaccuracies are on us. Mrs. Hudson is named for the landlady in Sherlock Holmes.**

**Review and they'll go back to Islesboro.**


	11. We Take A Shot

**Chapter Eleven — We Take A Shot**

A full day of reviewing Sleeper's old records for any information they might have missed about the Gerstmann shooting, and they were coming up short. The only 'proof' it was Doyle was that it was his style of gun, and a CI said he'd been coming around the Gerstmann place. Jane was pretty sure that was because Doyle, for all his faults, liked to keep an eye on his kids. But there was no real reason for Doyle to shoot Cassandra, even in Sleeper's notes, and it had been closed as 'unsolved, probably related to Paddy Doyle.'

They couldn't even ask Sleeper's old partner, as that worthy had taken a bullet in the line of duty.

So the trio of Rizzoli, Frost and Korsak were in the old archives, re-reading Sleeper's notes (Jane), looking for any cases that matched the ballistics (Barry), and hunting for any records for Gerstmann (Vince).

"I hate dust," grumbled Frost, flipping through yet another box of records.

"I hate the Dewey Decimal system," replied Korsak, looking through his own box.

"It's actually a classification, not a system," Jane explained, staring at her own box. "By using groups of ten to classify and sub-classify books, it's infinitely hierarchical and more efficient than the Library of Congress method." All sounds of papers being sorted through in boxes stopped and Jane realized what she'd just said. "Maura's bookshelves." Both men made an understanding noise and they all went back to work. _That was a close one, Rizzoli!_ she told herself.

After a little while, Korsak dropped his box and stared at the ceiling. "Remember that leak we never found?" he asked quietly. "You know, the one who checked out the DNA records and gave Doyle info on the doc?"

Jane paused and marked her place in Sleeper's files. It was a juicy review about Crowe she was going to need to memorize for later. "Doyle knew before, Vince. He didn't need the DNA."

"That's... worse," growled Korsak. "That means whoever grabbed her DNA did it for one of Doyle's enemies." When Jane looked at him blankly, Korsak went on. "What if it's the same someone who shot Cassandra? What if all this is a revenge on Doyle stuff? What if we make Maura a target?"

Those were all things Jane and Maura had discussed privately, before Maura agreed to work on the case. Anna had explained, in painful detail, that the entire FBI and US Marshal service took protection of 'Rick Dale' seriously, and they had never lost a witness who followed procedure. So far, Rick was toeing the line. Privately, Jane felt Doyle was still keeping his hand in to protect Maura, or she was a monkey. "Why bother? Doyle's dead, Maura's not taking over his business," asked Jane.

"Point is, someone cracked that file. They could go after Maura." It was sweet that Korsak was so worried about Maura.

"Korsak, we've got the whole FBI system looking out for us now," sighed Jane. She'd read about Crowe later. "They even got Cavanaugh to okay bugging our system to look for other bugs. The computer's as safe as it gets right now. The only way for someone to get at that information is old-school."

That caused all three of them to stop. "What if that's it?" whispered Frost. "I mean, 'Very Special Agent' Dean was looking for bugs." Frost even made air quotes, which almost caused Jane to laugh. "And he's monitoring all our video feeds, _and_ put a camera on the Doc's office, right?"

Korsak was nodding so hard, Jane thought his neck would snap. "Right," he agreed. "So what if this guy is like Doyle? What if he's old school and doesn't do computers? Where would he get the intel on the Doc's DNA?"

"We don't even know if that's the same guy," objected Jane.

Giving up on his files, Frost sat on the box. "We never found any evidence except the file was accessed. You need access to the system for that, and you need to know how to hide your tracks. That's not old school, Korsak. I had to program your damn phone for you." He gesticulated more as he got more excited. "Maybe they aren't using the computers because they have access to the hard copies of the files! Which would have to make it a cop, or somebody who works in the records room, or someone who has keys so they can clean it or something like that."

Before the two could get into a dick measuring contest, Jane waved her hands. "Look, the likelihood of the guy who shot Cassandra being the same guy who got Maura's DNA is about as much as the Cubs winning the series. And yeah, it was probably Doyle's enemies who did it, but that doesn't mean that it's the same guys who shot, maybe killed, Cassandra. Guy like Doyle has a lot of enemies. Him being dead, though, makes Maura safer."

"_I feel safer knowing Doyle's dead," Maura sighed, softly. They'd been watching some weird Dutch movie about a woman who came back to her village with her daughter and no husband, and how her life intertwined with everyone, while lounging comfortably on Jane's sofa. They'd easily fallen back into old habits, spending time at each other's home, going back to yoga together, eating together._

"_That's kinda out of left field." Jane continued to play with Maura's hair, something that Maura didn't seem to mind, and gave Jane warm fuzzies in her stomach. Talking about Doyle did not._

_Maura moved a little away from Jane to turn off the DVD. Oh good, the movie was a thinking movie and it had really made Jane think a lot. The scene where Danielle and Lara fall in love was strikingly familiar to how she felt with Maura. "I was thinking about how Antonia knows she's dying, and how comforting that would be to just have the knowledge of a full and complete life." Before Jane could squirm, wondering if Maura was talking about them, she went on. "And then I thought about Doyle, and how he hid from me his whole life, and died without really knowing who I am. And that was sad, but I started to think that now that he's dead, his enemies won't care about me anymore."_

_Those were entirely dissimilar to the thoughts Jane had felt while watching the movie. And talking about Doyle, knowing he was alive and she was lying to Maura, made her sick to her stomach. Maura had been complaining about Jane's recent weight loss and health issues, which were getting better with Maura's attention. How strange it was when Jane realized that talking to Maura about her feelings _for_ Maura would be less stressful than talking about a 'dead' man. "I was thinking about that guy, Botticelli," she said, instead of anything related to Doyle._

_That caught Maura's attention. "Oh? The scene that mirrors his 'Venus on a Half-Shell?' Did you know that Venus, Aphrodite in the Greek, was often depicted as the daughter of Zeus, but she was actually born, if that's the correct term, when Cronus cut off Uranus' genitals and threw them into the sea? The mix of that and the ocean bubbled forth sea foam, _aphros _in Greek, and thus Aphrodite. She's actually the eldest of all the Olympian Gods, and while perceived to be the least powerful—"_

"_I was thinking about how Lara looked in Danielle's mind," blurted Jane, desperate to end any further conversation of penises and gods. Mostly penises. The god stuff was kind of interesting, and Jane would have to look that up later. "And how the movie just made them falling in love no big deal. They weren't really super platonic or all stupid and simpering all the time. They just looked at each other and saw things and each other for who they really were."_

_Jane took a deep breath and continued on. "And _I_ was thinking about what you told me. About the pansexual thing, and how you love people. And I... I don't care." When Maura's eyes widened, Jane waved her hands. "No no! I mean, I care, I care a lot, but I really don't. Augh, I'm screwing this up!" She went to cover her face with her hands, but was stopped when Maura caught them mid-flight._

_They held hands, quietly, on the couch for a moment. "Take all the time you need, Jane." Even though Jane could only look at their joined hands, she felt Maura's eyes on her face._

_Her mouth was incredibly dry, and Jane swallowed. "I'm fine with you being whatever you are, Maura," she said slowly. "I'm not _against_ the idea of dating. You. Dating you." Jane was tripping herself up again and took another calming breath. Okay, fine, yoga was good for something. But even so, telling Maura exactly what she thought felt too raw right now. _I look at you, Maura, and I see beauty and art. The way you smile makes me understand why they launched a thousand ships. When you touch my hands, I feel everything everyone told me I was supposed to feel with Dean, or Casey. Anything you ever want, I'll get it, no matter what._ Instead all she said was, "It's a big change, and it's kind of scary, but I love you, and I want to get where going on a date-date, a real date, with you feels right."_

_Maura's grip on Jane's hands tightened, but she didn't say anything. In fact, Maura's face was a perfect, inscrutable, poker face. "If you ever do reach that point, let me know. I'd enjoy that." She paused for a brief smile and a hand-squeeze. "I think we should finish the movie, and then we can talk about whether there's sufficient reason for me to stop dating other people." _

_Every single one of Jane's thought screeched to a halt, crowded out by other thoughts clamoring for attention. _Maura's still dating other people? Wait, idiot, of course she is. She's been kind of into me since we met, and she's dated guys... and girls, I guess. And I never gave her any reason to _not_ date these other people. Oh god, do I want to tell her to stop? Is that even something I should say? Is that why I want to hit the guys she dates with cars? Oh. That's jealousy! I'm jealous of them dating Maura!_ Jane stifled a groan. "Yeah, yeah we should do that," she agreed, if only to delay the inevitable._

_The hands got another squeeze, and Maura pressed 'play' again on the DVD. "There's a really funny sex scene coming up," Maura added, returning to her place at Jane's side._

"_Yaaaaay," muttered Jane._

The buzz of her cellphone scared the hell out of Jane. "Rizzoli," she snapped into it, trying to trick her heart into a regular pace. The number was blocked, which meant it was probably Anna or Obrecht or...

"Someone's accessing case records." Or Dean, of course. Jane snapped at her partners to get their attention. "They copied my request to exhume the body, same as they did for Doctor Isles' DNA a couple years ago."

"Just the exhumation request?" asked Jane, surprised.

"The geeks think there's a program in your system, set to red flag anything to do with the Gerstmann case. I've got my top guys working on it. You said that someone accessed records on a case related to Doyle before?"

While Dean's 'initiative' was an asset, Jane wished he didn't sound like such an arrogant ass when he bragged about it. _His_ top guys. "Yeah. DNA results." Jane hesitated and looked at Korsak and Frost. They hadn't made it explicitly clear to her partners that the Feebies knew Maura was Doyle's biological child. Quickly Jane reviewed how much time she'd spend in the doghouse for this one, and decided to just not mention it to Maura. "You think they're looking for anything related to Doyle?"

"Got any other cases you think are him?"

Jane smirked and turned the tables on Dean, "Got a way to check if any other files were accessed by the same..." She paused and caught Frost mouthing the word 'worm.' Oh! "By the same worm?" Hah! Points scored!

The pause at the other end of the phone was meaningful, "That's a good idea. We'll do that." Another pause. "Listen, I wanted to say I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed you like I did. It's just that I still have feelings—"

"You know I'm standing in a room with Vince and Barry, right?" Jane closed her eyes and decided not to look at whatever faces her partners were making at her right now. Nope. "Look, I told you it was over, and you're an ass for not listening, but this is business. Go find me a worm." She pressed the off button and went back to looking through Sleeper's old case files.

They worked in silence for a bit before Korsak spoke. "I told you the leak's still out there." Jane allowed that Vince was right. "I never liked Dean," he added after a moment. "You could do way better."

If he only knew.

* * *

><p>The coffin itself was wheeled in to the morgue, still inside the burial vault. "That doesn't look like a coffin," muttered Frost, already reaching for the Vicks. Jane had patiently explained that there was no shame in using the scent masking substance, and offered to use it as well if it would make him feel better. Frost had, for lack of any other word, manned up.<p>

Privately Jane told Maura she'd blackmailed Korsak into stopping teasing Frost by telling him she still had video of Korsak singing "Natural Woman." Shortly after that confession, Jane's box of incriminating videos of her coworkers found a home in 'her' office at Maura's. The office was, to Maura's despair, still mostly empty, though paint swatches had been slapped on the wall.

Maura signed the papers and explained, "It's the burial vault. They're used to prevent the weight of the dirt from crushing the coffin, or in the case of areas with high water tables, to prevent the coffin from sinking. A grave liner can also be used, and they're more common in Jewish burial, where the religious requirement is for the body to be absorbed back into the earth. Of course, it's a common misconception that a burial vault, or embalming, prevents decomposition—" At Jane's cough, she stopped and looked at her girlfriend expectantly.

"I thought a burial vault was the little room they found King Tut in," Dean remarked, eyeing the box skeptically.

"Yes, the term can be used to mean both the tomb and the enclosure," began Maura, but she stopped herself short. "This is, obviously, an enclosure."

"Crowbars?" asked Jane, her lips curved into a smirk. The rampant explanations were adorable today. _That's right, Dean. Smartest woman on the whole damn East Coast, and she's all mine._

"Ready and waiting," Dean replied, handing one to Frost and keeping the other for himself. "We got this," he informed Jane, and took off his jacket to display his somewhat more toned arms. Alright, so he'd been working out. The beer belly was going away, but he still looked like a cowboy left out in the rain for a year, and his hair was thinning. It didn't impress Jane, but she went to stand over by Maura and Korsak.

"This ain't gonna end well," muttered Korsak. "$20 says Frost pukes on Dean's shoes."

Maura, surprisingly, replied, "I'll take that action." At Jane and Korsak's stunned looks, she asked, "Did I get that wrong?"

"No," assured Jane. "No you got it right. I'm with Maura, Vince." No way was she going to bet against the ME today. Maura had that look on her face like she knew something and wasn't sharing yet. Like the extra birthday surprise Jane had gotten this year. Not something to be shared with everyone, sneaky, but well researched and appreciated.

The blush crept up Jane's neck. _I am not Girlfriend Jane, I am Detective Jane,_ she reminded herself and watched Dean and Frost crack the vault at Maura's direction. It took all of them to muscle the lid off and onto the waiting dolly. Then they peered in.

"That looks like a coffin," Frost announced.

Maura gleefully wheeled over the hook and pulley system, connecting it to the handles on the coffin. "Casket," she corrected. "I'm been waiting to use this system ever since we received the grant. Exhumations are much easier when I don't have to risk contamination from the mortuary." The last clip was attached and Maura pressed one button on a device with ill-contained glee. The coffin — casket — lifted itself from the vault.

After the vault was moved to the side, the coffin took its place on a low table, and Maura unlatched it with expert hands. Frost took a deep gulp of breath as he, Dean and Jane lifted the lid. "Why doesn't it smell?" ask Frost, surprised. Then he looked in and blanched.

"Controlled decomposition," explained Maura. "Cassandra opted for a 'green' burial, which was highly uncommon at the time. In order not to poison the earth, she wasn't embalmed, simply dressed in a shroud and interred." With expert fingers, Maura rubbed the cloth. "Feels like 100% cotton. I'll take a sample."

It was Korsak who muttered, "Corpse jerky." Jane slapped his arm.

Maura didn't seem to notice. "Natural desiccation occurs in a certain percentage of interments, though it depends greatly on the matter of body preparation and —"

"Earthling," Jane sang, under her breath.

Pressing her lips together in a way that told Jane she'd be getting the full version of this explanation later that night, Maura provided the short version. "It's uncommon, but not unheard of. And the green burial means the evidence hasn't been tampered with quite as much." Without her assistants, Maura relied on Jane and (surprisingly) Dean to hold various body parts, hand her implements, and affix labels. When Maura went to take a lock of hair, a clump came away in her hand. "That's interesting," she said softly.

Patiently, everyone waited while Maura documented what happened. "Jinkies," sighed Jane. "Something must be important."

"Quite," agreed Maura, obviously not getting the joke. She drew a vial of the fluids at the bottom of the casket and cut a sample of the skin, starting them immediately on a complicated process involving chemicals Jane didn't want to try and pronounce. Then Maura went to the radioactive drawer. Everyone jumped and starting yelping when Maura pulled out a Geiger counter from its lead-lined box. "Would you all step away from the body?" she asked, calm as you please.

Almost as one, everyone backed up to the wall. "Uh, Maura, do we need protective gear?" Jane pressed one hand, protectively, over her ovaries. Just because she wasn't planning to use them right now didn't mean she didn't possibly want to. Eventually. Maybe. Anyway, she wasn't alone. All the men were either turning to the side or had hands over their crotches, too.

Looking like a badass, Maura adjusted her goggles, "That's what I'm checking for. Was Cassandra undergoing chemotherapy or any radiation treatments?"

"Noooooo," Jane replied slowly, watching her girlfriend go through a complicated checklist.

The device whined as it turned on, and Maura waved it over the casket. A few beeps, regular but quiet, came from the sensors. "Hmm," mused Maura, who then ran the sensor over herself. "Interesting. No, no protection needed. And I have a possible cause of death." Jane was thrilled to see Dean's jaw drop open. _Yes. The badass there is my girlfriend,_ she thought. "Thallium poisoning."

"Are you kidding me?" snapped Dean. "Who does that anymore?"

"Doctors," Maura countered.

"Agatha Christie fans," suggested Jane innocently.

"Chemistry students," Maura parried, enjoying herself, "or teachers."

As Dean looked at Jane, she was sure he was about to make some snide comment at Maura. Stepping up to defend her genius girlfriend, Jane said, "Also there was that reporter who was poisoned with uranium. They thought it was thallium at first." Silence, and delighted looks from Maura. Points for Jane, thank you!

Grouchily, Dean folded his arms. "Is she _always_ like this?" he asked of Jane, jerking his head at Maura.

"Yes," said Korsak, Frost and Jane at the same time.

With an under his breath mutter about how Jane would know, Dean decided to at least try and be helpful. "You're running the fast test for thallium poisoning? I'll take a sample back to my lab and have them run DNA and a full workup." _His_ lab, Jane noted silently, and was gratified to notice that Frost was mouthing the exact same phrase for Korsak's benefit.

Maura, as usual, seemed largely oblivious. "Thank you. I'll appreciate their assistance."

And just like that, Dean was reduced to errand-boy. Oh, she was good. Jane started grinning so much that she had to walk over to the sink, under the pretense of washing her hands, to calm herself enough to avoid squealing. It didn't help much; Dean followed her, standing just about two inches inside that invisible bubble of personal space that she liked people to respect. "What?" she asked quietly as Maura explained to Vince and Barry exactly what she was doing, what samples she was taking. Frost was already covering his mouth and looking away from the dried-out husk of what had once been, in a manner of speaking, Maura's step-mother.

"Seriously?" Dean queried, lifting a brow as if sharing an in-joke with Jane, and glancing back towards Maura. "I mean, she's hot and all, but..."

"Not another word," Jane warned through clenched teeth. "First of all, it's not your business. Second of all, we're at work. You keep hammering on my personal life, and I swear to God, the words 'ejaculation' and 'premature' will be said loudly in this room. Along with the words 'tiny' and 'misshapen.' You better nod right now to let me know you understand, _Gabriel."_

Dean cleared his throat. "That's not true." Which thing, he didn't specify.

Jane jerked her thumb back over her shoulder, indicating the trio at the casket with a grin of sadistic glee. "They don't know that."

Dean nodded. "All right. You're not out. I get it." A hopeful glint came to his eye. "Are you exclusive?"

This, Jane didn't even dignify with a reply, though she did flick water into his face before drying her hands and returning to the side of the casket. Maura observed sideways, out the corner of her eye, but kept up her discussion of the corpse and its likeness to various natural mummies over the years. She was mentioning Egypt, the Andes, and the difficulty of determining cause of death on an ancient corpse. "...Because, of course, cutting skin, eyes, tapping the spine, breaking off teeth, and the other samples that one could take would also destroy the archaeological evidence, which really needs to remain intact."

_Eyes_ was what did it. Barry's cheeks and lips puffed out once or twice. His hand went over his mouth. Dean smirked.

"Sink," Maura pointed, and politely waited for Barry to finish and return before continuing, under the assumption that he'd actually want to hear the rest of what she had to say.

Dean just enjoyed having a cast-iron stomach in front of Jane, and perhaps he was watching her too closely to really understand that movement would be beneficial. Soon his shoes — yes, and portions of his lower pant legs as well — were coated in the chunks of the curry, vindaloo, and various chutneys Frost had eaten for lunch.

A ladylike snicker, followed by an even more ladylike choking it off, emitted from Maura, who cheerfully paid up. "Twenty dollars well spent," she said as she drew it from her lab coat pocket and handed the money to Korsak. "Let me call janitorial and have this cleaned up. Agent Dean, I hope you brought a change of clothes."

Barry, embarrassed, went to the sink to rinse his mouth and check for splatter. There was none. At least he wasn't the sort that threw up all over _himself._ Maura made the phone call to the custodian's office, then resumed the discussion of the corpse and all it would soon be able to tell them, over the process of beginning the second autopsy on this body. "I can't declare cause of death as thallium poisoning until and unless no other causes present themselves. However, this is definitely a potential culprit," she concluded after a bit too long.

Jane and Korsak both kept up their questions. Once in a while, someone would glance at Dean, at his shoes, and back up. "I don't have a change with me," he said, and that was all the apology he could muster, though he did wipe as much off as possible with paper towels.

In part to escape the smell, but more to avoid Dean, Jane decided to go anywhere else. "So thallium. Rare. I'm going to look up how many cases we've had in Boston. Ever." She paused, looking at Maura, silently inquiring with her eyebrows if Maura would be alright, abandoned here with Dean.

"Have fun," smiled Maura, her lips in a scalpel-sharp expression Jane had seen only a few times. Oh, good, she was going to eviscerate Dean. Jane returned the smile and went to the elevator. Just as the doors closed on her, she heard Maura ask, "Gabriel, would you like to go out to dinner with me?"

_Wait, what! _Jane pinched the bridge of her nose as her forehead creased with a frown, a wince of sudden headache. _Oh, shit. He's thinking the word 'threesome' right now._

* * *

><p><strong>The movie Jane and Maura were watching was "Antonia's Line," which is a weird and awesome Dutch movie. There's even a priest who gives everything up to get married and have kids. <strong>

**Reviews prevent threesomes.**


	12. Run Right To Her Side

**Chapter Twelve — Run Right To Her Side**

The dinner had been quiet, calm, pleasant. They'd ordered light, Maura because it was her habit to do so, Dean because he hated trying to be smooth on a full stomach. If he got lucky, he wanted to be able to do his best, and there was the distinct possibility that he'd be fulfilling his and every other heterosexual man's fantasy tonight, so he wanted to be in top form.

Still, he hadn't assumed. Hoped, but not assumed. Nothing was certain; and that Doctor Isles, despite the annoyance factor of her fun little factoids and the way she relished what was essentially a really gross job, was a class act. It wouldn't do to overstep.

Therefore, Gabriel Dean had played it cool, as if it was a first date with someone he really wanted to impress. Which, of course, it was. He wasn't used to not being the one picking the restaurant, but in a very subtle way, it had been indicated that the evening was to be on her. He'd ordered the same thing she had, and noticed that it was the one menu item that didn't seem to contain an abundance of garlic or onions, nor did it contain beans or any other gassy sorts of things. Mild flavors. Good; he hated feta cheese or anchovies on a woman's breath. She also ordered a wine that sounded really special, and had two glasses of it herself before the waiter cleared the dinner things and brought dessert menus.

Therefore, Gabriel Dean had played it cool all dinner long. Cool and charming. Smiles, low chuckles, and occasionally he'd lay his hand on the table quite close to Maura's. His conversation had been focused towards presenting himself as competent, but not arrogant; humble, even. Self-deprecatingly modest. He also hadn't laid on the compliments too thickly, merely indicated that Maura looked nice and that he'd always found her to be good at her job, and quite interesting as a person.

It was time to bring out the big guns. He glanced over the leather-bound dessert menu in the hope of finding something that was rich and a bit drippy. He liked drippy desserts. If a woman ordered one, and licked her lips, he could be almost positive she was interested in sex. Ah, here was one that was perfect, and he mentioned it aloud. "I think I'll have this 'brownie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, drizzled with hot fudge and caramel sauce.' That sounds good. Maybe a bit too large for one person, though." He smiled and offered what was essentially an actual plate of sex. "Would you like to share it?"

Maura smiled.

From her perspective, the dinner had gone swimmingly. They'd ordered the same, which she supposed was another indication that in some manners they had similar tastes. _Of course we do. We both like Jane._ Seeing him order light, moreover, had been encouraging. Maybe he would lose the last of that baby-bump he'd been carrying since his return from Afghanistan. It would improve his job performance, and as a member of the public whom Dean was supposed to serve, she felt better about his professional capabilities' eventual improvement.

There had been a touch of confusion over her chair. She'd intended to sit down as Dean did, but he stepped towards her. Fortunately, the waitstaff here knew her a little, and the head waiter had been assigned to their table — a man who was conscientious in the extreme, and enjoyed her style of tipping. He had pulled out her chair for her, and then given Maura a secret delight as he then did the same for Gabriel Dean. A quick wink told the man all he needed to know; he'd handed _her_ the menus so that she could give one to Dean. _Pay attention. I'm in charge here._ She'd handed him the one without the prices on it, which then led to him clumsily suggesting that they'd gotten the wrong ones. "Don't be silly," she said with a smile. "I'm the one who invited you to dinner. Naturally, it's my treat."

She'd kept the conversation light, preferring mostly to listen rather than to lead. Dean had pitched conversation about things he knew they shared: work. Maura didn't mind, because she loved her work, and that topic would keep them from veering into the personal before she was ready to get there. The timing was crucial. Too soon, and dinner would be ruined. Too late, and they'd be taking up the table past the time when they should have finished eating, and then she'd have to come up with somewhere else for them to go for a few minutes while she spoke her mind.

Dessert, she decided, would be the proper time. Agent Dean wanted some sloppy, gloppy thing, and for some reason, he wanted to share. Gross. Why had she ever thought this man attractive enough to be with her best friend? _In my defense, we weren't truly best friends yet when I thought so._ She lingered over the idea of cannoli. It would be so good... but no. When she'd actually caught sight of the cell-phone video Frankie had made of her eating it, she agreed with Jane: cannoli was only for eating at home, preferably just with Jane, from now on. "Actually, that might be a bit heavy for me tonight," Maura replied pleasantly, "but you go ahead. If you don't finish it, that's okay. I think I'll be having just an Italian sparkling soda." Dean appeared disappointed, but didn't remark on the matter further.

She, not he, gave both orders to the waiter, who bustled off to make them happen, and then sat up straighter. Her posture was always good, but she'd been resting lightly against the back of her chair. Now she leaned a bit forward, resting the fingers of one hand atop the table. It was, she had learned over the course of her lifetime, a clear signal that small talk could now cease and the meat of the discussion would be approached. Time to talk business. "Agent Dean," she said quietly, then decided to be a bit more kind. "Gabriel. I don't think I can put this off any longer. Forgive me for doing so, but I wasn't sure how I wanted to approach you about this. It's about Jane. And me. And... you."

Dean sat up straighter as well. Hot damn! He smoothed down his tie and leaned in.

Maura smiled. Dean was paying attention. Good. This was going better than she'd anticipated. "Do you know what this is about?"

"I think so," replied Gabriel Dean, trying not to sound as nervous as he felt. "I should say that I'm... Well, you're both very beautiful women."

"Thank you," replied Maura, though for a moment she experienced confusion. How was that related...? _Oh. Of course. He's interested in Jane, but acknowledges that she has interest in me._ "I don't like to be blunt, but I think that it wouldn't serve any of us well to be vague."

"Oh, I agree."

Maura smiled. "Thank you. Then you'll understand that it is only in the interest of clarity that I ask questions and make my statements baldly, and not out of a wish to offend?"

Dean nodded eagerly. "Absolutely."

Some of Maura's tension was eased. "Good." And with no further ado, she drew the line. "Then I'd like to know how you truly feel about Jane Rizzoli."

This, Dean hadn't expected, but he had an answer. "As I said," he offered after another throat clearing, "I think she's a very beautiful woman. We used to date, and I'd like to be with her again. I care about her a lot. I... think I love her."

Maura's brows rose. She remembered Jane's account of the times she'd spent with Dean. If that was dating, then Maura had had a good many more boyfriends than she thought she had. She would need to ask Jane later what exactly constituted a relationship, to the average thinker. Jane was by no means an average person, but she had more contact with them than Maura had. "I see. And since you do... care about her... I take you to mean that you would not feel right about being a person who could cause her pain, or problems?"

This was the strangest come-on Dean had ever experienced. Then again, he'd never actually been offered a threesome before; maybe the interview process was a bit more extensive with two women than with just one. "Never," he avowed. "And because she cares about you so much, I wouldn't like seeing you hurt, either. Or, or... inconvenienced."

Maura's smile grew slightly, then calmed. This was kind of nice. Almost like interrogating Charles Hoyt again. Maybe not quite that exciting, but after all, Dean wasn't as exciting. _No, not exciting. Hoyt wasn't exciting. He was awful and mean and... Well, okay, but he was _interesting_. I'm allowed to think he was interesting, right? As long as I don't want to be like him, I can say he was interesting. As a study subject._

It was all to the good, of course, that Dean was a bit more staid than Hoyt. She didn't want to deal with another serial killer fixated upon Jane. But she did think it was a little bit entertaining, trying to make him understand her. "I appreciate that," she told the man honestly, "and so will Jane. That makes this much easier. You see, Jane and I aren't out. Her family aren't aware of our relationship, other than her mother, nor are any of our co-workers. In fact, the only people who do know are those that were in the room with the two of you when she felt it necessary to inform you personally, so that you'd give her some space."

To his credit, Dean looked abashed. "I didn't mean to pressure her, Maura," he said, "but I... I didn't realize there was anything that I might be overstepping. And I still have very strong feelings for Jane."

"I understand that better than anyone else could," Maura replied, "but you need to remember that that was a workplace environment. Even if she had been receptive to your advances, that wasn't the place to make them. Jane is a very forgiving person, and she doesn't like a great deal of hassle, so she might be tempted to let it go. However, I think if you continue that behavior while working together, she might consider it worthwhile to bring it up with your superiors. One of whom, as I understand it, was actually in the room and heard you pressuring Jane for a resumption of your former sexual activity. It could be considered workplace sexual harassment."

Now Dean fidgeted. He hadn't thought about that.

However, Maura didn't let him respond. "That isn't the main thing I wanted to discuss tonight, Gabriel. It's important, but it's not what I came here to say. To ask."

Dean relaxed a little. At that moment, the waiter returned with their desserts. Conversation momentarily derailed, resuming when each of them had had a bite, or a sip, or two.

This time when Maura leaned forward and lowered her voice, it wasn't from nervousness, but from absolute confidence. "I want you to stop making things hard for Jane. I know you still harbor some sentiments for her, but you need to understand that she's with me now. If our positions were reversed, I wouldn't think much of you if you didn't come and speak to me, and let me know that you were fully invested in the relationship. That's why I'm giving you the same courtesy that I would expect of you if the sock were on the other foot."

"Shoe," Dean corrected, looking confused. "Wait, is this..?"

"This is our man-to-man talk," Maura replied evenly, and though her smile remained, the serenity within it came from a place of surety, he now realized, not simply of repleteness with a good meal. "Our come-to-Jesus meeting, I think, is what this is called. I don't believe in delivering idle threats, so I won't bother with that. You don't need to fear me shooting you, tampering with your vehicle, setting fire to or otherwise injuring your genitalia, or anything miserable like that."

That there was a detailed list disturbed Dean somewhat.

"However," Maura went on, "I need you to know that I am fully invested in my relationship with Jane, and she is just as invested as I am. We are together, and if I am very, very lucky, that will always be the case. You don't get to make advances on Jane Rizzoli anymore. You don't get to wait around, staring at her with a hangdog expression of longing. It annoys her. You don't get to try to entice her away from me. If she wants to leave me, I won't have the right to stop her, but you are not going to be an agent of that change. Do you understand?"

Dean's mouth dropped open. "But... Look, Jane and I have history. I don't know if you know this, but we dated."

"You said that earlier," Maura replied easily, "but I think you may have perceived it differently from the way Jane perceived it. The way she described it to me, you took her out to dinner _once._ She kissed you, what, twice? Months later, you invited her out to dinner again and she got dressed up beautifully for you, and you brought take-out and a six-pack of beer to her place. You were there once when she needed a warm body and didn't realize that mine was available to her." Dean's eyes widened, but Maura did not permit an answer, if indeed he could have made one. "Then, when she thought she could confide in you as a person, you betrayed her trust, broke into her investigation that _she_ had under control, and shot the only person who could give me the name of my birth mother, all to advance your career. Gabriel, you have to realize at some point that your own actions, even more than my presence in Jane's life, are what killed any chance you had with her. I'm not the obstacle. I'm not the one standing in your way. You did that yourself.

"But," she went on, "you have a chance at redeeming yourself in Jane's eyes, even though it won't get you back into her life. You can demonstrate to her that you've learned that when she sets a limit, you can respect it.

"In other words, if you expect to be perceived as a person of honor, you will, as they say, come correct and back the _fuck_ up off my girlfriend." For some reason, the street language was all the more intimidating for its use by a smooth voice with an upper-echelon accent.

Maura's head tilted, and her gaze flickered higher, towards Dean's hand as it ran nervously through his hair, attention diverted. She reached out and, with a very thoughtful expression, took a handful of his hair right at the center of his forehead, and pulled.

It came out, all in one chunk, and Dean didn't even flinch. "Huh." Maura's tone was speculative, her expression more so. One finger raised, and the nearest waiter swerved in his path to approach the table. "May I have the check, please?"

* * *

><p>Skidding as she rounded the corner into the hospital waiting area, Jane's immediate attention was given to the amused looking woman, in a moderately slinky dress, sitting with hands folded in her lap. "Maura!" All of Jane's fears washed aside when Maura looked at her with a peaceful smile. An evil smile, actually.<p>

"Jane, did you use the gumball?" admonished Maura, standing to greet her. With cell reception terrible in the records room, Maura had called dispatch to ask them to tell Jane she was taking Dean to the hospital. When dispatch sent Frankie to find Jane, he'd just said Maura was going to the hospital with Dean.

Of _course_ Jane had used the gumball and run red lights to get to the hospital faster. "Yes, yes I did." She forgot, for a moment, all about the fact that she was Detective Jane Rizzoli, and this was probably a factor in their case. Instead of being that Jane, she was firmly, resolutely, and determinedly Girlfriend Jane, and pulled Maura in a more-than-friends hug. "Frankie didn't say _Dean_ was sick," she muttered into Maura's hair.

Not one to turn down any sort of contact that Jane wanted to initiate, Maura simply held onto that hug for as long as she was permitted. "You lacerated gluteus maximus to get to me," she realized with a smile against Jane's collarbone.

"Ass, honey. Tore ass."

"You got to me as fast as you could," Maura concluded, "and I'm very touched, and very glad that you're here. Did Frankie or Dispatch mention anything else?"

Jane wracked her brains until she finally said, "Something about poison. I don't know. I just heard _Maura's in the hospital,_ and everything else kind of blurred out of focus." She couldn't stop stroking Maura's hair, holding her close. The sheer terror she'd felt had underscored something she hadn't truly been able to consider as closely as she should have. It was nothing but luck that Dispatch had spoken to Frankie instead of just calling down to HR to find Maura's next-of-kin forms and phoning her out-of-country parents instead. Jane had always known she could be hurt and Maura wouldn't hear about it through official channels, but that anyone in the Rizzoli family, or Frost, or Korsak, would inform her. Now she realized that _Maura_ could be the one hurt, and _she_ would be the one who had no idea, because Maura had no family members who understood that Jane would be a person who should be informed.

"I'm going to," Jane began, then swallowed; her throat was too dry. "I'm going to change my HR form to put you down as my ICE person, okay? If I'm hurt, you'll be the first person they call."

"Me too," Maura promised. "First thing in the morning."

Soon they sat, their sides pressed together, holding hands under Maura's folded coat. "So, um. Dispatch said something about poison, right? What did you feed Dean in his dinner?"

Maura's eyes widened as she looked up at Jane in shock. "Jane! I would never!"

Jane chuckled. "Got you. But seriously, what happened? Is he...?"

"Thallium," Maura said with a touch of triumph in her voice, "just like Cassandra Gerstmann."

The color drained from Jane's face. "Shit. Jesus. I mean, I'm pissed off at him, but I don't want him dead."

"It's totally curable," Maura said, her hand stroking Jane's soothingly.

"Oh." Jane was relieved, but not enough to let it show. "Well. Too much to hope for, I guess."

"Jane!"

The detective chuckled, then sobered. "Did he have this when I was... dating him, do you think?"

Maura's head shook. "No. If he did, he'd already be dead. It doesn't take long at all."

"So," Jane concluded, "he had no excuse for the thinning hair, the beer belly, or the...?"

Maura filled in the blanks for her. "The general air of dishevelled malaise?"

"He looked like leftover ass."

The petite pathologist shook her head. "No excuse, and that is a horrible phrase. Apt, but horrible."

Jane chuckled, then sighed. "What the hell did I see in him?" she pleaded.

It was probably a rhetorical question, Maura realized, but she couldn't help but give Jane a serious answer. She rested her palm on her girlfriend's knee and stroked soothing circles on the patellar region. "I think you just needed to get laid really badly."

"Well, I certainly did get laid really badly," Jane chuckled ruefully, and Maura joined in sympathetically. "Do we all have to get tested for thallium poisoning?"

Maura tipped her head to one side. "Yes," she replied, but moved to another subject so quickly that Jane could only interpret it as having already been in her mind. "Jane, where are we?"

"Um," Jane began, then paused. "Did you hurt your head?"

"I'm being serious. I know where we are," explained Maura, "but I want to know if _you_ know where we are."

"We're in the hospital." Jane's husky voice was puzzled, but she decided to ride it out. Weird questions usually had a purpose, with Maura, and if she was patient, all would eventually be revealed, and so it proved.

One delicate, recently-manicured hand gestured around. "We're in a hospital where you often go, either for your own injuries or those of your family, or your cop family. This hospital is essentially an extension of your workplace."

"Yeah... So?"

Maura's lips pursed. She had to probe this delicately. "I don't want to cause you consternation, and I don't want this to sound confrontational, but aren't you usually Work Jane while you're here?"

Jane considered. "Um," she said again, and sighed.

"_If we're going to be dating," Jane said to Maura as they walked through the park with their coffees, "Then I have to explain my rules."_

_This seemed to delight Maura. "You have rules? Are they really rules or are they guidelines?"_

_Making a note not to tell Maura that the pirate movie had sequels, Jane sat on their bench in the Boston Common. This was a good and familiar bench, where they often met to go running, and sometimes to confess from their hearts things like not knowing who their birth parents were. Or, once, finding a dead body not too far from here. This remained a good, safe place to talk. "There are three rules, and three Janes," she started, taking a sip from her coffee._

_Maura's eyebrows lifted in surprise, but she sat beside Jane. "A triptych of personality. That's quite common in literature and mythology. The Three Fates, or moirai as they were called in Greek, parcae in Latin, are often seen as the coalescing of the maiden, mother and crone concepts, nominally found in Earth Mother based religions. Of course, the Norse had the Norns, which fulfill the same concept, implying that the idea is more universal. The Greeks and Romans always did like to think the world began with them."_

_Yet again, something Jane was going to have to look up later. "Okay, not my point." As Maura muttered an apology and sipped her own coffee, Jane went on. "See, I came up with these rules after I dated this guy... point is, I made these rules to keep things workable." She held up one finger, "No restraints, no handcuffs, no tying anyone up."_

_It was with relief that Jane saw Maura nod emphatically. "Of course not!" The tone was decisive, as it would not have been just a few months ago. Charles Hoyt had closed the door firmly on that avenue of exploration for them both._

_A second finger went up, "I decide when we tell my family and friends we're dating." This time Maura frowned. The problem was they had a lot of shared friends, and Jane lifted a third finger. "Which goes hand in hand with number three. No PDA at work. Work Jane is Work Jane."_

_Silent for a moment, Maura processed these rules. "Work Jane? I presume this dovetails with your 'Three Janes' theory?"_

"_Yeah, the three Jane Rizzolis. You're the only person who really gets to see all three..." Jane paused, picking her words carefully. "Okay, so there's Jane Rizzoli, daughter of Angela and Frank, who causes her family headaches but loves them a lot." Maura smiled, she knew that Jane. "There's Detective Jane Rizzoli, who hunts monsters and kicks bad guys into jail." This, too, was a Jane Maura knew. For the third Jane, Jane took Maura's hand. "Then there's Girlfriend Jane, who does froufrou stuff, goes out on dates, kisses, and... tries to do her part in a relationship."_

_Maura squeezed Jane's hand back, smiling, "That seems perfectly sensible." She then asked, "Why did you Skype Casey from work then?"_

_Ah. That. "That was_..._ a mistake. See, every time I ever break these rules, or start crossing lines between the Janes, I get in trouble, and I start resenting the relationship and the other person who's in it with me, and I'm miserable. I don't want to resent you. Ever."_

_Maura considered her options. She could accept the rules and be with all three Janes; she could pressure Jane to break the rules, and soon do without any of them. "I want all of you. I'm very good at compartmentalizing. I accept the divisions and the rules."_

As Jane hesitated, Maura explained in very gentle, very patient tones, "I don't want you to ever be uncomfortable with _us._ I just want to be sure I don't cross lines by accident. Do you need me to be the best friend who holds your hand in the hospital, or the best friend who gives you space so no one notices that Girlfriend Jane is nearby?" Sitting very close as they were, with Maura's hand on Jane's knee and Jane's arm around Maura's shoulders, leaning inward, could have been either, and she was astute enough to know how they might easily look, to someone with eyes to see it.

Jane's arm tightened on Maura. "I'm not uncomfortable, but you're right. I don't know which Jane I am right now." To her credit, Jane sounded as puzzled about this as Maura felt. "God, you know I really hate hospitals. I'm always all three Janes here, and I'm _always_ in trouble here." She exhaled, but did not take her arm away. "Tell me something good?"

"Treatment for thallium poisoning is going to give Dean blue feces," offered Maura, hesitantly.

"I love that, and I love that you know that." Jane laughed. "Okay, so now we have to find out why someone tried to kill Dean. Where the heck do you get thallium these days anyway? I remember Agatha Christie got it from a pharmacy, but that was like nineteen-hundred and you could get away with murder." Jane paused and laughed again, this time at herself.

Since Jane didn't remove her arm, Maura felt it remained appropriate to lean against her. Comforting friend Jane, maybe. At least everyone was confused about it. "A hospital would be the easiest," she thought out loud. "They're used in stress tests, since in small amounts it's not harmful and will show — You don't care about that. Normally it flushes out of your system in thirty days, though if you have an abnormally slow metabolic system, it can take up to six months."

Now Jane did remove her arm, but it was to pull out her cell phone, "How come you used that Geiger counter? I saw the lab results on Cassandra, she _did_ have thallium poisoning, four points to you, by the way." Quickly Jane thumbed in something to her phone.

"Often radioactive thallium is used in hospitals. It's in minute traces, and easier to detect in the blood. If that had been used on Cassandra, she'd have... lit up like a Christmas tree." The approving smile from Jane made Maura feel like a Christmas tree lit up within her. Oh good, she'd gotten that right. "Whom are you texting?"

"Anna." Jane paused and looked up at the wall, "Crap, we're going to have to test everyone in the building now." Turning to Maura, Jane's eyes widened with the daunting realization of the vastness of the task ahead.

This was not news to Maura, "Yes, we will. So will everyone who's been in contact with Dean, I presume." She pressed her lips together, in a sign of displeasure. "We'll have to shut down my lab. Labs. Autopsy, evidence, all of it. I'd better call the other offices." Maura reached through her purse and pulled out her own phone to start making arrangements. They were back to being Detective Rizzoli and Doctor Isles.

"Maura, why didn't Dean ping in the lab?" wondered Jane, as she hung up with a very cranky Cavanaugh.

"I was only testing Cassandra. Had I tested the rest of you, I probably wouldn't have had to pull out Dean's hair at dinner."

Eyes sparkling, Jane went back to her round of phone calls. "You _what?_ Man, you keep making my day better and better, Maura."

* * *

><p><strong>See? Good things happen when people review! The cheerful mental image of Dean missing hunks of hair and having Smurf poo should be rewarded with more comments.<strong>


	13. Use The Handcuffs

**Chapter Thirteen — Use The Handcuffs**

They'd gone to Jane's apartment, after the inevitable blood draw and sacrifice of clothes to the FBI's evidence lab (as the only possible non-contaminated resource in the city). A small respite in Jane's vintage sanctuary was aided by the fact that Joe was still at Maura's house.

"I'm telling you, I can taste something funny," complained Jane. She had been complaining about a 'funny taste' ever since they'd been tested.

While it wasn't terribly late, the ongoing drama from her girlfriend was tiring Maura out and she pressed her fingers to her forehead while slumping on the couch. "It's probably the salami sandwich you ate in the hospital. Which I can't believe you had the courage to eat at all."

Jane grumbled, "Not all of us got to go out to fancy restaurants." However a moment later Jane's strong, capable hands were massaging Maura's neck and shoulders. "Speaking of which, why were you out at one with Dean?"

"Mm. That feels good." So it darned well ought, too, since it was happening without the impediment of fabric. Maura had borrowed one of Jane's racer-back tank tops and was suddenly glad that her girlfriend was such a lover of sports-related attire. Her head bowed forward as her spine relaxed further under those clever fingers. "I took Dean out so I could establish that you were firmly unavailable to him until and unless _you_ indicated otherwise, and to stop giving you gripe at work."

"Grief, Maur. Grief or guff or crap."

"Oh." The caramel-haired woman leaned back into Jane's torso to share more of her comforting warmth as she considered the slang term, then decided it didn't matter. "Whatever."

"Well, now he knows for sure," Jane said with a little sigh. "He can't just think of it as me playing the lesbian card just to stall him off."

Maura did not sigh. "It was wrong of me ever to play that card," she said with a trace of guilt. "Every time I did that, I was being insensitive to lesbians, bisexuals, gay men, and pretty much everyone else, too. I really don't handle panic well, do I? It's a good thing I'm not a cop."

Jane pointed out, dropping the massage of one shoulder to slip that hand around Maura's shoulders and hold on, "No, you don't. It's also a good thing nobody we know ever asked you out." She spared a thought for Tommy, who'd gotten further than almost anyone else in their circle of friends in working up his courage to do so. "Formally. God, but what if they do?"

Maura shrugged, which nudged Jane's chin resting on her shoulder. "I'll have to tell them I'm immensely flattered, but seeing someone."

"They'll ask who."

"Whom. And I," Maura replied, hugging the one arm Jane had snuck around her, "will tell them that I'd rather not talk about it until the relationship is on firmer footing."

With a little, pathetic, whine Jane asked, "Why was it easier to tell your mother?" Maura's mouth opened. "Don't answer that, it's rhetorical."

"I wasn't going to answer," Maura disclosed as she turned halfway around to partly face Jane, facing the empty other end of the couch, which she patted. "Come sit with me. I was just going to ask, easier than what? Telling yours?"

Jane shook her head, but obediently stepped right over the back of the couch and sank into the indicated seat, facing her lover. "Telling _anybody_. I want to do it, you know? I want to come clean with my brothers, and my partners, at least. Everybody else doesn't really matter except my, like, cousins and aunts and uncles and so forth, but those guys are a big deal for me. They're right up _in_ my life, you know? And especially with Korsak and Frost, we depend on each other completely. We save each other's lives all the time. I don't like having this big, glaring hole in the information they get about me. Eventually, aren't they going to realize it's there, and then feel sort of betrayed that I let it get there?"

"Sweetheart." Maura took one of Jane's hands and kissed it, then the other. "You tell whom you want, when you decide it's time, and not before. That's your rule, remember? Rule number two. I know when you said it, you meant that no one should force you or press you to tell people before you were ready. But I think now you need to remember that no one, including yourself, should force you _not_ to tell when you're ready, either. The only real problem will be figuring out when that right moment is, or making it happen if you decide that you're ready and a natural moment doesn't present itself. That's what I had to do, remember?"

Jane chuckled weakly. "Yeah."

Maura scooted closer, so she could hug Jane without having to bend too far forward; it necessitated wrapping her legs around Jane's waist, all but sitting in her lap, making it a two-level hug. "But maybe you don't really have to tell Frankie and Tommy."

Jane reared her head back, looking doubtful. "You think they know? You think Ma told them?"

"No!" Maura looked shocked. "She understands how important and personal this decision is for you. We've talked about it."

"Great."

Maura favored Jane with a warm and tolerant smile. "I just mean that... Well, all right. Did you ever have a really good boyfriend, one you told your family about? One who behaved respectfully to them?"

That brought a different sort of pause. "Yes and no... I had a really good boyfriend. Two. William moved to LA just as we were getting really serious, but he was really, _really_, amazing. Heck, Frankie liked him. Mostly. And James..." Jane stopped, "Other than Ma's stupid idea of calling us 'Jamie and Janie' I probably would've stayed with him. Except he didn't like me getting shot at." A beat and Jane added, "And Ma was flipping out because he's Anglican and not Catholic." Thus the short line of 'good' boyfriends came to a halt. "Why?"

"What did William do, regarding your brothers? What did James do in regard to your parents and brothers?"

Jane thought about it, worrying at her thumbnail with her bottom teeth. "William... I didn't tell my folks about him, but he met Frankie, and they went out for a beer. Frankie gave him the big 'I'm her brother spiel,' and William said Frankie wouldn't have to string him up by his balls. I think Frankie liked him, but mostly just because he was impressed that William could beat him at arm wrestling."

Making a mental note to ask if that would help her case, Maura prodded further. "And James?"

"James came over for dinner," remembered Jane, "and I introduced him around. Ma asked him about his family, and my dad talked to him about what kind of work he did and whether he was going to respect me. Frankie and Tommy got him to play football against them with one of the Talucci brothers — I forget which one — and tackled him pretty hard a few times, and then said they'd all be friends unless he treated me wrong. If he did, they'd tackle him a lot harder."

Worry worked its way onto Maura's features, but in the end she nodded. "I see. Well, my boyfriends all went to my father for some kind of talk, and charmed my mother, and were polite to the serv— household workers. They, and your boyfriends, addressed our families, because they knew that it was an important step. I think I should do the same respect and courtesy to your brothers, since you talked to my mother."

Jane's jaw dropped significantly. "Wait, so... wait. You want to be the guy?"

Maura laughed. "No. I want to be the person who's dating their sister. When you decide it's time for them to know, I think I should... man up and tell them myself."

Jane worked her jaw side to side for a moment and then took Maura's hands to rub them, gently. "That actually makes a lot of sense," she admitted, eyes locked on Maura's knuckles. "Okay. I told your mom... I told _my _mom. Constance probably told your dad, but she's discreet. So... I should tell Frost and Korsak. And you'll tell Tommy and Frankie?" She lifted Maura's hands to kiss them. "Okay. Okay, yes. Okay. But you can't man up wearing my clothes. You look way too sexy in my clothes."

"Oh, and what do I look like in mine?"

Jane made a show of fluttering her lashes. "Even sexier."

"And that's a problem?" Maura asked with exaggeratedly unreal innocence, then sighed with just as much melodrama. "I suppose I'll just have to ask them to dinner wearing something of mine, then. Where do you think they'd enjoy going?" By now, she had learned that taking someone to a place too far outside their comfort zone left them feeling awkward, and that was the last thing she wanted for the two men she'd come to view as close friends, thanks to Jane. "I doubt the Côte d'Azur would be appropriate, but I don't want to make it a... a drive-up place with waiters on roller skates, either."

Disbelief warred with amusement in Jane's face. "Roller sk—... Seriously, that's your idea of fast food?"

"What?"

"Nineteen seventy-five called. It wants its culture back."

* * *

><p>It was too logical for Korsak, who was being stubborn about the whole thing. "No way. The guy who kills Cassandra freaks out that we're looking into her death and tries to kill Dean? I mean, points for effort, but why not us?"<p>

They were all crammed back into Cavanaugh's office, since Dean's had come up hot for radioactive thallium and the FBI and CDC (and probably OSHA) were all over it. Anna took Dean's place as resident Feebie, much to everyone's delight, as Dean was still pooing blue. He'd called Jane, in a panic, that night to have her ask Maura if that was normal. It had been, truth be told, a hilarious conversation.

"Thallium worked once. Maybe the killer thought it would work again," suggested Anna, who also was a bit of a hard sell.

Jane's intuition, her gut, told her she was on the money. "Who else would use thallium except the killer or some Agatha Christie fan-boy? Look, you found radiation whatevers in Dean's office, you're searching the rest of the building. Why don't we go over the videos from this week, see if anything suspicious happens?"

That was Frost's cue to fire up the laptop, and they all settled in to watch hours of mind numbing video. It was probably best that Maura was overseeing the restoration of her offices, though Jane did not envy the poor HazMat techs assigned to work with her. _I bet that OCD is hitting high gear pretty damn soon,_ Jane thought to herself. The techs had already worked all night to make sure the entire morgue, evidence labs and offices were free of contamination, and neither Jane nor Maura had been tasked with lifting a finger. Not after Maura left a polite message with the Mayor about how there might be a backlog, and he should be prepared to make a statement. Jane loved that Maura had the balls to do that. It was almost as cool as pulling out Dean's hair at dinner.

Part of Jane felt guilty she hadn't pulled an all-nighter herself, going over employment records or thallium poisoning cases. Damn it, she'd been tired, and a sleepy detective was a no-good detective. Besides, the FBI had an armed guard on Dean, he'd be fine, and it wasn't like Cassandra was getting any deader. More dead? Deader sounded right.

"Woah, woah!" Jane's back brain fired off alarms. "Is that the janitor?" She looked at the time stamp on the video, reaching past Frost to hit pause. It was the video from four days ago.

"Yeah? So?" asked Frost, staring at the picture in confusion.

Korsak leaned forward for a better look. "Is that at eleven?" he muttered and reached for his notepad. "Nice catch, Jane. Janitorial goes in between two and four AM on weekdays. What's he doing at eleven at night?"

They made a note. "Maybe he's getting ahead?" suggested Frost, but even he looked thoughtful now. The janitor was only in the office for five minutes. "Man, he cleans like a teen-ager."

"And this is why I don't go over to your place, Frost," Jane drawled, passing a wink to Anna. "Okay, fast forward until we see him again." And like magic, the guy was there at a quarter to three, when he was supposed to be. "Baby, I am going to Vegas with my mad skills," muttered Jane, and they spot checked the remaining days.

Korsak snorted, "You better hope that's really one of our janitors and not some guy faking it. And where was he last night?"

"Didn't check in," muttered Frost, who promptly pulled up the records from janitorial. Within a minute they had a lock: Grady Washington was on duty and a physical match for the guy in the video. Anna whipped her phone out and was on the ball, asking the FBI to pull all the employment records on Grady Washington. Jane felt like a boss, with all her minions running around doing the work for her. "He's on day-shift starting today. Do we pick him up or wait for him to get here?"

As one, Korsak and Jane replied, "Pick him up."

"I'll have a warrant for you before you get to his place," Anna promised them, grabbing her coat. "Your Mr. Washington is _also_ employed at Tufts Medical Center. Works there three times a week, and holidays. I'm going to find out of they're missing any thallium."

Taking pity on the man, Jane told Frost, "Go with Agent Farrell. You're my eyes and ears at the hospital. Vince, we'll go get Washington. And... Frankie can go guard the janitor's closet."

* * *

><p>It was clear to anyone with even the most microscopic of intellects that Dr. Maura Isles was <em>pissed<em>. Order had yet to be restored in her lab, and while they expected to be able to take cases again by Monday, that left her with four days of backlog to push through. No, Maura was entirely displeased.

Jane held the door open for her to the interrogation room, a smirk crossing the detective's face. "Mr. Washington, meet Dr. Isles. Give her your arm."

The man balked. "You already swabbed me for DNA."

Maura smiled a chilly little smile. She began wetting a cotton gauze square with rubbing alcohol. "Yes, but I didn't test you for a life-threatening, but treatable, condition. Would you like to know if you have it? Give me your arm."

Looking from Jane to Maura and then to the mirrored glass, Grady held his arm out. "They didn't say nothing about a condition," he noted, now nervous as Maura swabbed his arm. "I know my rights, I get a lawyer."

"You do," agreed Jane, sitting down. "I'm here to supervise the blood draw. It may be a while before you get results, by the way, or a lawyer. The precinct was shut down yesterday and all of the night thanks to a chemical contaminant."

"Hence the life-threatening condition," Maura added helpfully as she swabbed the man's arm, then probed for a vein. "Make a fist, please. Good. Squeeze it rhythmically, like this. Thank you." A little more probing, and then without so much as a by-your-leave, she stuck the needle in. It had to be said that she was neat about it. Many medical professionals had a difficult time getting a vein on the first try.

It also had to be said that she wasn't used to having patients that were aided by gentleness.

"Ow! Damn!" cursed the janitor, wincing.

"I apologize," Maura said quietly, smoothly. "This won't take long." Sure enough, the vial was filled, labeled, and handed to another guard, who took it out to courier to the FBI lab for testing. "Yes, as Detective Rizzoli was just mentioning, we had a chemical contamination in the crime lab. Did you know that thallium comes in both regular and radioactive forms? Mmhm. The latter can be so dangerous that mere contact, not just ingestion, can cause hair loss, illness, sterility, and even death." She paused, then asked conversationally, "Has your hair always been this thin?"

"Hey, now," Jane broke in, restraining her impulse to just kiss the hell out of Maura, "you can't ask him that. He hasn't got his lawyer here. We can't ask him anything, or offer him any medical advice or assistance, unless he waives his right to counsel." There was a significant pause as she let that information sink in and begin to simmer. "So, Grady, _they_ didn't say anything about a condition. Who's _they?"_

Grady had gone a little white at the mention of thallium, but when Maura said the magic word, 'radioactive,' one hand inched protectively towards his groin. His eyes widened and he looked from Jane to Maura and back again. Apparently Jane was deemed 'safer' and he asked her, "What condition? Am I gonna die?"

And Jane said nothing to him, "When _will_ we get the lab back, Doc?"

Snapping her gloves off viciously, Maura glared at Grady, "Monday. It depends on how widespread the contamination is." Maura was practically biting her words out and spitting them at the suspect.

Jane didn't always play 'good cop' and it was kind of fun to do so. "Monday. Wow. So you won't have the results back on that FBI agent who was poisoned till... what? Thursday?"

"You can't hold me till then! Habeus corpus!" Grady was starting to panic now. Just a little.

Leaning forward to regard Grady, Jane asked, "What makes you think we didn't have evidence, Grady?" She stood up and reached forward, taking a firm hold of the hair atop his head and yanking. "Wow, you weren't kidding," Jane added to Maura, looking at the clump.

Both of Grady's hands flew to his head where he removed his own patch of hair. "Oh my god," he whispered. "I'm gonna die! They didn't tell me it was dangerous to _me!_ They said just put it in his coffee and he'd go away!" Then he turned even whiter, to the point that Jane thought he'd pass out. "I don't want my lawyer! He's one of them!"

Someone behind the glass was probably cheering right now. "One of who?" asked Jane, ignoring Maura's muttered 'whom' from behind.

"Whitey Bulger—" Grady cut himself off. "I want a deal. Immunity. You get me out of Boston, safe, and I'll give you everything." He took a deep breath. "I'll confess to poisoning that flabby FBI guy, I'll tell you where I got the stuff. My partners at the hospital and here."

If Jane hadn't been in the interrogation room, she'd have whooped like Arsenio Hall. _The nineties called, Rizzoli, don't do that anymore,_ she told herself. "It's gonna take a while, Grady. You know we're backed up here."

"I killed the Gerstmann woman."

Jane pushed a pad of paper over and a ballpoint pen. "Write that down." It was short, it was too the point, but he wrote it down, not naming any names. "Someone's going to come back and take you to lockup while I clear this with the FBI. Don't do anything stupid." Jane opened the door for Maura.

As soon as the door shut behind them both, Maura adjusted her paces so that they were walking side by side down the hallway. "You know, with Anna running around and doing everything else right now, there's only one more person who'll have clearance to discuss this case."

She didn't even have to mention Dean's name. There was a loud slap as Jane's palm struck her forehead. "Shitballs."

"What a perfectly horrible phrase."

* * *

><p>When Jane had been shot, they'd taken her to Massachusetts General Hospital, partly at Maura's insistence, she'd figured out later. Apparently Maura had known Slucky for years, and argued successfully that Jane's survival would be higher there. Still, it was a hospital, and hospitals sucked. It didn't take <em>all<em> her courage to face down a hospital, but Jane wouldn't lie and say she was happy about it. _I'd rather kick down a door and tackle a meth-head._

Taking a deep breath, she rounded the corner and had her badge checked by the FBI guards. "Hey, we hear you got the guy," said the first faceless, humorless, agent. Jane nodded and they parted to let her into Dean's private room.

Where Father Daniel Brophy was sitting, playing chess.

_Oh come on, God! What did I do to deserve this!_

Jane sighed and rapped the doorframe. "Agent Dean, got a minute?"

Both men looked up at her, surprised, and Jane was struck by the obvious fact that her girlfriend had way better taste that she did. You had to admit that Dean looked better bald. You couldn't see all the grey in his hair anymore. In no way, however, was he even as close to as handsome as Daniel Brophy, who with his greying hair and cool expression looked unattainable and appealing. _Oh. That's what she meant when she said he had heaps of sex appeal._ Great, now Jane could see it.

"I take it you're not here on a friendly visit, Detective Rizzoli?" asked Brophy, always astute.

Finding herself smiling at the priest, Jane shook her head. "Not this time, Father, but if you want to hang around outside, I can catch you up on last week." This was agreeable, and Brophy folded up his pegboard-style chess set and left the room to find some better coffee. "You're looking better," Jane told Dean, taking Brophy's pre-warmed chair.

"Except for the whole blue crap thing, I feel fine," admitted Dean. "They say I can go home tomorrow."

"If we're lucky, the case may be over by then," grinned Jane, and she caught Dean up on Grady Washington's half-confession. "So I need you to grease the wheels, get him into WitSec, and we'll have the whole damn gang. Our leak, your attempted killer, and who knows what else."

He didn't even need to think about it, "Done. I'll make the call." As Jane started to get up, Dean added, "Listen, Jane... You're serious about this thing with the Doc, aren't you?"

She froze half-way to standing. "God, like you don't even know, Dean," whispered Jane.

"Okay then," Dean replied, leaning back against the pillows. He looked defeated. "Would you tell her I'm sorry?" When Jane arched her eyebrows he shrugged, "No offense, Rizzoli, she scares me a hell of a lot more than you do."

With her most unladylike snort, Jane walked out, "I'm glad to see you're paying attention now, Dean."

_The hotel room wasn't cheap, and Jane remembered staying in worse on a car trip with her parents, but it sure wasn't what she expected. "Welcome to freakin' Florida," she muttered, dropping her suitcase and wondering if she'd catch a communicable disease by taking her shoes off. "Man, a Holiday Inn Express would be better."_

"_We're on a budget," Dean explained, shouldering past her. His arm was still in a sling from where Paddy Doyle had shot him. Jane wished Doyle's aim had been worse, knowing full well if he'd wanted to kill Dean, the FBI agent would be dead._

_However. "What are you doing in my room? Looking for bugs?"_

_Dean looked surprised. "Our room, and no."_

"_Oh. No. Nooooooo, no!" Jane backed away from Dean. "I am _not_ sharing a room with you!" She knew she was being a little loud, but she didn't care. "I'm sure as hell not sharing a room with _one_ bed with you."_

_Placatingly, Dean explained, "I told the agent in charge it was fine."_

_For a brief moment, Jane thought about killing Anna Farrell. "And I'm going to tell her it's not," snapped Jane. She turned to leave and Dean grabbed her arm._

_It was pure reflex, but she had him pinned to the ground, a knee on his bullet wound, in seconds. Dean yelped like a scalded cat and Jane jumped back. "What the hell was that for?"_

_Scrubbing her arm with her free hand, Jane glared, "You don't get to touch me anymore, Dean. We're done."_

"_What? Because I stepped on your toes over your case? Come on, you can't treat me like I'm some jerk like Crowe. I wasn't trying to steal your case."_

"_You nearly _cost_ me the case!" For all Jane knew, he'd cost her the best friendship she'd ever had. Dean was lucky she didn't shoot him. "Take a good look at me, Dean, 'cause this is all of me you're ever going to see. Forever."_

_And with that she stomped out of the room, luggage in tow, and convinced Anna to let her crash in her room._

When Jane found Father Brophy in the waiting room, he had two cups of really good coffee in hand. _Why can't my exes be nice, like him?_ she wondered, taking the coffee and sitting down. "I wanted to say thank you, Father — Daniel."

"For what?" asked the backward-collared man as he gestured a welcome. There was a seat right across from him in the waiting room, and he'd finagled a small table from somewhere on which to set his travel chess set. "The coffee? It's no trouble. The gift shop here has a fairly good brew."

Jane smiled at the man. He was charming too. "For going over to Maura's last week when I was out of town. I really appreciated it." She sipped the coffee was surprised to find it was better than the station brew. The chess board was still set up for the game Brophy had played with Dean, and Jane indulged herself by making a move to take the black bishop.

"To tell the truth," said Brophy as he contemplated the board, moved a knight to within striking distance of Jane's queen, "so did I. I know it wasn't your aim, but I feel very much as though I gained a friend back." He removed his hand from the knight as he commented, "I also gained a bit more insight into myself, and I think it will help me maintain that friendship as... a friendship."

It was a little easier to look at the chess board than the man across from her. "She doesn't have a lot of people she can talk to about us. Which is my fault," Jane said, using her queen not to take the knight, but to remove the black rook from the board, and keep the knight threatened. "But I came out to my mother." Brophy didn't need the details about the FBI.

Brophy touched a pawn, but changed his mind and moved another instead, this one very close to Jane's king, but not to take or be taken by it. "That's wonderful," he agreed with a little smile. "That must have been difficult for you. How did you feel?" Not, how did Jane's mother react.

Clucking her tongue at Brophy for the touch and release, Jane didn't call him on it. It wasn't precisely bad manners, depending where you were playing. "Like King Kong on cocaine," admitted Jane studying the board. "Man, Dean sucks at chess." The board hadn't been set up with any attempt at strategy. After a moment, Jane moved her bishop to a seemingly useless position. "We're talking about how to tell my brothers. And my partners. But that night... God, you don't know how crap I felt, knowing that it's kind of my fault, and I can't do anything, _and_ it's because of me she doesn't have anyone to talk to."

"It's not," Brophy said, and with one move threatened that 'useless' bishop's very life, as well as re-endangering Jane's king. "Maura has always been..." He paused; no one liked to say alone, or lonely, about someone they liked and respected. "...solitary. I'm sure she's told you quite a lot about her personal history. It's thanks to you, your friendship and relationship, that she has a family right now beyond her parents. It's also thanks to you that she does have a confidant, even though there are inherent problems with her confiding in me."

A man in pleat-front trousers and a non-matching blazer came into the waiting room, cellphone to his ear, nattering and fidgeting in what sounded a bit like Polish, expectant father written all over him. Brophy lowered his voice. "And I know that she can confide in you with everything, too, when you're not... away."

Jane glanced at the daddy-to-be and, with a negligent move, nudged a knight to back up her bishop. "I don't think she should be so alone, Daniel. Solitary is one thing, but it's okay to need people sometimes. We need each other, and we need to be able to rely on others. Like a team."

Looking at the chess board with a frown, Daniel took the bishop, half fearing the move for its ease. A second later his fears bore fruit, as Jane's knight put him in check. "Clever," he muttered.

"I can actually beat Maura at chess." Jane paused a second and added, chagrined, "Sometimes."

"So can I," Brophy replied, then added, "sometimes." He took hold of his king, then his rook, and castled them. The maneuver put Jane in check instead, with very few options to get out of it. "Apparently we have even more in common than I knew."

That thought stopped Jane cold for a moment. "I... have been thinking that myself, lately, Daniel. I mean, we were both kind of unattainable, repressed, people. We were kind of dirty secrets." Reviewing her options, and they were few thanks to the terrible game Dean had played for the first half, Jane used her queen like a scalpel and sliced Daniel's lines. Defense by offense.

"Technically," Daniel said with a sad smile, "we weren't. Maura has been _our_ dirty secret. Her natural state is honesty. If not for our individual needs for secrecy, she would have been happier living openly." With that he moved a lowly pawn, took that hard-hitting bishop for his own, and changed the game. The queen was now isolated, cut off from all her supporters, and the king wasn't much better off. "We, not she, demanded secrecy. We, not she, bear the guilt that requires shadows and silence. The differences between us are few, but there is one important one."

"Which is why I told Ma, and I'm working on the rest. It's not fair for me to make her feel like she's lying, and are you sure you wanted to do that?" Jane pointed at his bishop carefully but did not offer a suggestion of reparation. At Daniel's slight shrug, she nodded, and left her king in jeopardy, though not check, to use her whirling dervish of a knight and destroy _his_ king's protection.

Daniel considered the chess board and his opponent, both with the same care. "No, it isn't. You know, as impressive as your courage is, you still need just a little bit more, so I'm going to give it to you, to use if you wish. The most important difference between the two of us isn't our professions, levels of income or education, faith, gender, appearances, or any of those extraneous matters. It also isn't in the intensity of our feelings. It isn't even in the intensity of _her_ feelings."

That wasn't what Jane wanted to hear, but he kept going, not regardlessly, but because of regard — his for her, as much as theirs for their mutual Great Love. "Maura loves you as much as she loved me, and maybe more. After a great deal of soul-searching and analyzing the situation in myriads of myriads of ways, I've come to the conclusion that that there was a point at which either you or I could have done what was needed, and she'd have gone in that direction. That's no longer the case. My window of opportunity has closed. So the important difference between you and me becomes the important difference between you as Maura's lifelong companion and you as... well, just as single as I am. The difference lies in what I was and wasn't willing to do to keep her, versus what you'll be willing to do to keep her."

Finally he observed, "I'll have you in five moves. You'll have me in four." He reached out and tipped over his king, surrendering. "And this is the difference." His pale hand gestured to the board. _"You_ will not do this."

Jane looked at the board, and her own words echoed in her head. _Anything you want, I can get it._ She would never surrender. That was the difference between them. Jane could, and would, do anything for Maura, as history had proven multiple times. "Thanks, Daniel," she said quietly, and extended her hand over the board to him. "I'd say we should go for a beer, but I'm pretty sure Dean's got my paperwork in motion, so I've got a perp to nail to the wall. Want me to tell Maura anything from you?"

Brophy stood to take Jane's hand in both of his, not in the handshake of gentlemen, but that of a gentleman and a lady, and bent to kiss her knuckles. "No, Detective," he said, almost in the same gentle tone he would have used with a Mother Superior, a member of the aristocracy, or indeed, Maura if they met in a public place after a long absence from one another. "She knows."

* * *

><p><strong>Checkmate! Reviews will get us to edit and post the final chapter. You want to know how this ends, right? (We'll post it anyway, of course. But after this much editing, doing one more chapter is almost like work. Reviews keep our energy levels up.)<strong>


	14. The Legal Limit

**Chapter Fourteen — The Legal Limit**

Music blared out from a set of speakers attached to the iPhone dock in the medical examiner's office, as it had done for the past hour. Vivaldi played by Yo-Yo Ma was followed by James Taylor, Frankie Vallie and the Four Seasons, Metallica, Mozart's "Eine kleine Nachtmusik," Ofra Haza, strains from _Evita,_ Katrina and the Waves, Jill Scott, and now some P!nk. The office of the medical examiner, including the autopsy, fiber, trace, and tox labs, had been returned to the charge and care of Dr. Maura Isles, who could not let the occasion go by without celebrating her return to the seat of her power. Each song, including the Vivaldi and Mozart, had been cause for dancing — that is, in between moving various objects back to their proper homes, from which they had been moved by the HazMat team, intent on checking for every trace of radiation and, if necessary, removing it. Every finger snap, every complicated bit of footwork, every booty shake, announced to herself and the world, _I have returned,_ like a conquering monarch/general to her own palace after successful campaign.

The fact that her seat of power was bereft of coffee pot barely even mattered to her at this point, as P!nk came into the shuffled song list, announcing that they had better get the party started. "Get this party started on a Saturday night," Maura sang, on key but with no real vocal ability or power other than that. It didn't matter, at least not to her. After hours — on a Saturday night, in fact, just as the song promised — who else should be here to hear it, after all? Thanks to the thallium scare, the lab techs and assistant medical examiners had all been given the weekend off, and would not return until Monday morning.

"Sendin' out a message to all of my friends, we'll be lookin' flashy in my Mercedes Benz. I've got lots of style, gold and diamond rings, I can go for miles, if you know what I — Oh!" The rest of the lyrics would have to wait. Maura's latest shimmy-and-twirl maneuver brought her to her doorway, and almost smack into the chest of Frankie Rizzoli. _"OH!"_ she shrieked again, not at the surprise of seeing another human being where none were expected, but at the fact that it was Jane's brother. Quickly she smoothed down her dance-rumpled dress, hair, and demeanor. "I didn't expect anyone to be here," she said by way of awkward apology for what she knew many would see as excessive jubilee, given that her office, beautiful though it was, was the heart of a morgue.

Frankie "I got a problem... I think he's dead." There was no need to say who. The younger Rizzoli had been set to protect the janitor who had robbed her of her office.

Immediately, Maura was both dismayed and disappointed. _You had one job to do,_ she thought in a moment of impatience. _Frankie, Frankie, Frankie. You have to stay alert. You lose focus for one second..._ But she did not utter the words aloud. Frankie was a good man, and she knew well that he'd worked a full day before being assigned to guard the prisoner almost ten hours ago. He would take any perceived blame to heart, and it would eat at him and make him doubt his fitness as a cop, as a budding detective. "What happened?" That should be a safe question. There was no judgment in it.

"Ericson came to relieve me," Frankie answered promptly, though with guilt lacing his words. "So I went. Took a while to get the," his voice lowered, "stuff arranged. So, about two hours after I left, I was finally home and asleep, and Ericson calls me, asks me to come back and take a look. There he was..."

* * *

><p>When Jane finally arrived, she was less than pleased. "Are you kidding me? Frankie, you had one job to do! Make sure Washington stays alive! You have to stay alert. You lose focus for one second... "<p>

Neither she nor anyone else noticed Maura turning her head to the side and suppressing hilarity. It wouldn't do, making Frankie think she was laughing at him. It was just funny to her that she had absorbed some of Jane's thought patterns; or maybe it was that _Ocean's Eleven_ movie that they'd watched together a few days previously.

Frankie, while hangdog, pointed out, "I did! You said if I was going to be up for 36 hours, I should get someone to cover. So I got Bob Ericson." Frankie paused and looked away. "He went to the bathroom while they were delivering lunch."

Pinching the bridge of her nose in the exact same way Maura had moments ago, Jane stifled the urge to kill her brother. "Where are Korsak and Frost?"

"Going over security camera footage." Maura replied, supervising the loading of the body onto a gurney. At least the transport would be brief.

"And Ericson?"

Frankie answered this one. "Cavanaugh's chewing him out."

"Yeah? Why aren't you there?" wondered Jane, feeling the headache sneaking in.

Maura pulled her gloves off, "I think Frankie thought he'd rather tell you himself. Isn't that right?" She smiled thinly at the younger Rizzoli. "I'm going to make sure the body's secured, Jane."

* * *

><p>The benefit of having had the lab closed for two days was that Maura now had the entire weekend free of scheduled autopsies and lab work, so that when the body came in, she could begin on it right away instead of putting it into the queue. Maura in her lab coat, Frankie in his much-rumpled uniform, Jane in her customary attire of wash-and-wear suit and beleaguered expression, Frost, and Korsak all stood in the autopsy lab. Frost had looked ill, but had not actually lost his dinner, the meal being by now too far distant to make a reappearance, by the time Maura set down her tools in the sanitizing bath and pulled off her gloves, but not her goggles. The goggles, Jane noticed for the umpteenth time, made her look like some kind of very cute insect. "I'll make a full report after I've had some sleep," Maura was saying, "but for now I can at least state cause of death. Cyanide poisoning by ingested powder."<p>

"Oh, hey," Korsak spoke up, "I thought I smelled almonds." Heads swiveled in his direction. "What? It's a recessive trait, being able to smell them. I learned that back when Tylenol had that crappy series of poisonings in the eighties."

"I'll have tox confirm," Maura went on as if she'd never been interrupted, other than an eyebrow arch of vague interest, "but given the security in lockup and the presence of guards, the only truly likely vector seems to have been the food."

Frost's phone rang, and he picked up. "Detective Frost." He looked a little important, as he often did when dispatch called him instead of one of his more senior partners. "Found what?" Importance faded in a whoosh, replaced by surprise. "Aw, man. Okay, we'll get there. Thanks. No, I've got them all right with me."

He hung up, slipped the phone back into his pocket, and delivered the news without preamble or softening. "The guy who should've been bringing food to Grady Washington and the other guys in lockup never got home this morning after his graveyard shift. The food guy we saw on the footage wasn't him. The real guy just got found by his kid in a closet. Double-tap to the head with the gun left next to him."

Jane's hand went right back to the bridge of her nose. That headache was just going to sit there, mocking her, with the idea that O'Rourke's men were revenging on his death at Doyle's hands a few years back. "Are you kidding me? Tommy O'Rourke's move? Did we just start a new mob war?"

A meaty hand landed on her shoulder and Korsak, in his most sarcastic, pointed out, "You always said you wished you'd been on the force then." Jane couldn't come up with a verbal reply and just glared at her partner. "Let's go pick the stiff up. And run some of that fancy facial recognition stuff to see if we can find out who _was_ delivering food."

Without having to look at a computer, Frost shoot his head. "He never showed his face to a camera or a reflective surface. I noticed that the first time I saw the video. It's why I flagged him."

"You did good, Frost," Jane sighed and pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead. Nope, that headache was here to stay. "Frankie, go home and get some sleep. Maura, you coming?"

"I might as well," replied the medical examiner. "I'm here; everyone else is off until Monday, because we didn't know when I'd get the lab back."

There would be no rest for the weary.

* * *

><p>On her second beer of the night, Jane announced, "This sucks."<p>

Korsak, on a diet soda in lieu of his second beer, raised his glass. "Hear, hear." Without comment, Frost raised his glass of milk and the trio clinked their drinks together. "How bad is this for your other case, Jane?"

Interestingly, Jane didn't feel guilty at all that she'd not told the guys about Paddy Doyle being alive, and the root cause for the whole resurrection of the case. She felt worse about not telling them that tonight she was going home to Maura. She felt worst about not having solved a damn thing. "Not bad, actually. We solved the Gerstmann murder. Mostly."

Leaning back in his seat, Frost thought about that. "He had partners, multiple. And they were all keeping tabs on Doyle's... family. They're still keeping tabs on them, even though he's dead. Maybe they think someone would take revenge?"

"Nah, we killed Doyle," objected Korsak, not looking at Jane for the moment.

"Dean killed Doyle," Jane corrected, absently, looking out the window for Maura, who was finishing up some lab work. They were both going to be overworked the next week thanks to the precinct shut down, but Maura's work started first. The detectives were silent for a while. "That doesn't make sense. Why would the mob care if we look into the deaths of Doyle's relatives? They already know how we feel about them."

Korsak's ice cubes clinked as he swirled his straw. "Maybe they aren't the target. Maybe they're trying to stop us from finding their spies left in the department, so they can always know when we're getting close." Now everyone looked out the window at their precinct. "That's a horrible thought," admitted Korsak, and he downed half his Diet Coke like it was a shot. "Screw the diet, I'm gettin' the good stuff. You in?"

Both Jane and Frost agreed, and Korsak wandered over to the bar to explain his order. "Is the Doc going to be okay?" wondered Frost quietly. "I mean, this can't be easy on her, having to work on her... stepmother's case."

"She's fine," assured Jane. Being able to talk openly with Maura about all aspects of the case had made it easier for both of them to come to grips with the whole situation. One of Jane's fonder memories of this case would be Saturday afternoon, after they'd collected the body of the food service worker, when Maura insisted on contacting 'Rick Dale' and badgered him until she was certain he hadn't arranged for the death. Even Anna was impressed, and told Maura if she ever wanted to switch career tracks and become an interrogator, the FBI would love to have her.

Jane sat up straighter when she caught sight of Maura's camel colored coat cutting through the light December snow. Rarely did Maura sacrifice fashion for function, being an expert at embracing both, and her ankle length coat swirled about her surprisingly fuzzy winter boots. Where she'd found winter boots with a heel, and how she managed to walk in them without slipping on the ice, Jane never knew. The door jingled as Maura strode in, a hint of swagger in her step.

By the time Maura had divested herself of jacket and slid in next to Jane, Korsak was back with four shot glasses. "Don't worry, Doc, this is the good stuff."

"I highly doubt that," muttered Maura, fairly well acquainted with the limitations of the Dirty Robber's liquor cabinet. She took a shot glass without further comment and mirrored Jane's motion to raise it in the air.

"To unsolved cases closed, new cases opened, and the continued employment of the finest detectives, and medical examiner, in the fine city of Boston," intoned Korsak, solemnly.

All four shot glasses were touched, gently, and three were downed quickly. One was sipped, and Maura's eyebrows rose in surprise before she followed suit and downed her shot. "That was _good_," she said with overt pleasure, the alcohol making her voice temporarily husky.

"Should be, for almost $400 a bottle," agreed Korsak. "Lagavulin 16 year old. It's the 'White Horse' bottling. You gotta know what to ask for, Doc."

Frost regarded his empty glass for a moment, and then his watch. "Speaking of knowing what to ask, I'm going to see if Anna wants to catch dinner before she heads back to DC." Flipping out his phone, Frost went to a quieter corner of the bar to make the call. Within minutes, he was pulling his coat on and rushing out the door.

"Young love," tsked Korsak, watching the hat-less Frost skid across the street.

Under the table, Jane took Maura's hand. While neither turned their head to look at each other, their eyes met in a sidelong smile. "Give him a break, long distance stuff is hard," admonished Jane.

"I think it's sweet," smiled Maura, "and heartening as well, to see them giving their relationship another try. It shows they're not quitters, and that they care about one another more than they were angry."

Jane's hand squeezed Maura's and she tried to keep a poker face. Hadn't Daniel Brophy just said that? "Speaking of not quitting, how's yoga going, Vince?"

His eyes darted between the women, curiously. The problem with Vince Korsak was that he was a damned good detective. "Still going three times a week, and doing that elliptical thing twice a week. Doc says I keep this up, my ticker's gonna look like a thirty-year-old's."

"That's not medically possible —" Maura started, but Jane elbowed her. "Oh, hyperbole. I'll be right back." She rolled her eyes and let go of Jane's hand to go to the bar and get her own drink.

Without really thinking, Jane watched Maura and smiled, appreciating the woman's form. "You got something you want to tell me, Janie?" muttered Korsak, his voice suddenly quieter, and he jerked his head towards Maura.

_The diner was the most upscale one Jane could find that had at least a four-star review on Yelp!, and still served burgers and malteds. On top of that, she had to make sure Maura was going to be delayed at the lab a little more than expected, so she purposefully didn't give Frost the last bit of evidence until she was about to walk out the door. Maura was annoyed at being late, but at Frost and not Jane, and asked Jane to explain the situation to Constance._

_With all her shenanigans, Jane wasn't able to beat Constance to the diner, but spotted the well poised woman in a comfortable booth, sipping a pre-dinner malted with the subversively gleeful expression of a woman knowing full well she was ruining her diet, and not giving a damn. "Sorry I'm late," apologized Jane, sitting across from Constance. "Maura's running even later. Work."_

_Eyes asparkle with the adventure of her fatty, sugary treat, Constance Isles lifted a smile towards the detective of whom her daughter had not stopped speaking from the moment they'd met. "I understand, Detective. You are both busy women. I'm glad that you make the time to spend with me when I'm in town. Oh, goodness, but this is delicious," she broke off for another taste from her straw. "It is also gratifying to see you making time for one another. That must be difficult to manage, but I'm so pleased that you do."_

"_We're making more time for it now," admitted Jane, keeping her light summer-weight jacket on in the air conditioned restaurant. "It's been a pretty rough year for everyone. But you're looking well." _

_They talked, briefly, on the normal banalities of life. Both Jane and Constance had gone through extensive physical therapy, and the shared extended damage of trauma was always easier to talk about with someone else who understood that you had weird moments crossing the street (Constance) or being in basements (Jane). Glancing at her watch, Jane realized she didn't have a whole lot of time before Maura showed up. "I hope you don't mind, Constance, but I kind of had an ulterior motive, asking you out to dinner," Jane began, cautiously._

_Taking it as an excuse to do so, Constance pushed aside the dregs of her malted milkshake and leaned forward, showing all evidence of being vitally interested. "Do I detect ulterior motive in scheduling it earlier than my daughter was available, as well?"_

_Shifting in her seat a little, Jane felt like a teen-aged boy. "I could probably win reasonable doubt on that one," she said, stalling a little for courage. "I've never, um, I've never actually had this conversation before. Never needed to, and I'm still kind of not sure about..." Jane trailed off, watching her own hands make futile gestures in the air between them. "I'm probably going to screw this up."_

"_I'll take that into consideration," Constance allowed, kindly._

_That didn't make Jane feel much better. "Okay. Okay, so I'm sort of— I think I'm falling in love with your daughter."_

_The head-tilt Constance gave her was eerily similar to the one Maura often gave when Jane was being incomprehensible. Or, well, no. Maura's was similar to Constance's. Still. "You tell me this as if to imply that it is..." She paused over the words, carefully selecting just the right one. "...new."_

_One day, Jane promised herself she'd figure out exactly when everyone in the free world, no, the planet, had decided she and Maura had been hot to trot for each other for years. Wearily, she pressed two fingers to her forehead. "It sure is for me," she sighed to Constance. "Yes, it's new. I haven't told her."_

_Honest shock galloped across Constance's usually dignified visage, and silence reigned while she processed the information. In the end, all she could say was, "Well, dear, hadn't you better get on with it?"_

_Jane sighed. "Yeah, I'm working on that, okay? Don't rush me." Aware that being snappish with the mother of the woman you were trying to ask out was a bad idea, Jane apologized, "I'm sorry. It's all _really_ new to me, is all." She rubbed her forehead and then asked, "Why did you think we were already... You know?" Jane waved her hand in small circles._

"_I'm familiar with the evidence of my own daughter's attractions and interests," Constance explained without seeming to explain much at all, "and it was really only a matter of identifying you as the other attracted party. I just assumed that since you were both interested in one another, and already so very close and affectionate... And then you showed such ferocity in protecting and advancing Maura's interests, and it was very easy to see, even if I hadn't had such an advantage." One hand lifted, waved a little in the air as if wafting the scent of her milkshake, or the flower in the vase on the table, towards her face. Again, an explanation without explanation._

_Working her jaw in circles a few times, Jane's finely honed detective senses caught on to a rather important piece of information. "What advantage, exactly, are we talking about here?" she asked very carefully and very slowly._

"_My rather impressive olfactory sense." Constance finally clarified, with the air of reminding Jane of something she already should have known. "I'm a super-sniffer. Not quite as good as a dog, but at least as good as most cats. It's really a small matter. There's a woman two tables away wearing a silk blouse that smells of her dinner companion's aftershave lotion. You washed your hands with Ivory soap before coming here, and your coat is about eighty percent wool in content, and smells of Maura's home; you were there within the last day. Our waiter has a rash he's treating with niacinamide cream. And you are... very attracted to my daughter, and thinking of her right now." She gradually realized that that fact had managed to escape the detective. "Maura didn't tell you?"_

_As Constance explained her particular talent, Jane's face went from thoughtful to impressed and into horrified. "Oh my God, I am so sorry," she said, dropping the first words that came to mind. "You should never ride the bus — How the hell do you even take a taxi?" Then the rest of the realizations hit Jane like a bus full of bricks. "Wait, you can smell everything?" She felt her skin flush in sudden mortification._

"_Not everything," Constance said reassuringly as she reached out to pat the table near Jane's hand in a gesture much like that which Maura often employed, a calming 'touch' without touching. "However, I do detect a great deal. Don't worry, I haven't mentioned it to her. Why would I? I truly thought she was already aware."_

_Jane covered her face with both hands for a moment, attempting to find her point in all this. The conversations with Maura never went the way Jane expected, and it was clear Maura had learned the twisty-turny surprise conversation method from her mother. "I don't think so," sighed Jane. "At least not in our out loud voices." Their eyes, on the other hand, spoke volumes. "I mean, she told me she was into me."_

"_Really?" Constance was surprised. "In those words? Or did she say she was interested in you?"_

_Removing one hand from her face, Jane waved it. "I knew what she meant. I can translate Maura into Earthling."_

_One nod. "Good. Good, I was afraid she'd never find it within herself to be the first one to speak. Well, you certainly have my approval and blessing, if this is why you've told me. I know my husband will agree." Constance smiled suddenly towards something over Jane's shoulder. "And here she comes. Shall we be discussing the menu when she's hung up her coat and joined us?"_

"_Unless you've got a really embarrassing story to tell me about her," Jane agreed, reaching for a menu. "I think I want a cheeseburger."_

In the here and now, there was no mistaking what Korsak meant, not with that significant-yet-understated chin jerk he sent Maura's way. Jane sighed. "Not... right now, Vince, no."

The big man nodded. "Any time you change your mind, Janie." He finished his Coke and stood up. "I'm gonna go feed Clouseau and the cats. Tell Angela hello for me." Jane reciprocated, raising her beer as a farewell wave.

When Maura returned with a mineral water for herself (the bartender/owner being conscientious in fulfilling his patrons' needs, even the pickier ones), she just barely caught sight of Vince's back at the door. "Oh," she whined a little, "I didn't get to even say anything but hello to either of the guys." She seated herself on the opposite side of the table, now that it was empty and sitting on the same side would be noticed as unusual, but her hand settled flat on the table, stretched towards her dearest friend. "Drinks and dinner here, or would you like to finish our drinks here and get dinner somewhere..." She slowed her speech to consider her options, running quickly through a mental list of appropriate adjectives. Better. Healthier. With clearer lighting. Of higher quality. No, none of those would do. "...else?" she finished weakly.

Reaching across the table, Jane rested her fingers on Maura's hand. "Lettuce does not a healthy meal make?" she asked, teasingly. "Somewhere else sounds good, something light but energizing, maybe fresh fruit for desert. Or no dessert at all... Unless you have to go back to the lab tonight."

"Oh, _God_ no," Maura replied with a shudder. It was quite a change from the dancing she'd been doing nine or so hours previously. Two bodies, one autopsy and another scheduled, plus putting her entire office and lab back to rights, had sapped a great deal of the enjoyment out of reclaiming her tiny kingdom. "No, I'm going to take the rest of the night off, and I think tomorrow I might even go in a bit late." She sipped her sparkling mineral water, set it aside, and forgot to be discreet with her hands, playing lightly with Jane's fingers and admiring them. Jane was her personal worry-stone, taking her mind off all troubles and points of dissatisfaction the moment she touched her.

"But your idea sounds like a good one. I like the idea of energizing and light." Hazel eyes lifted from the long, lean hands on the tabletop. "Especially if you're thinking of going in a bit late tomorrow, too."

Trusting the bartender to keep his secrets (and win the betting pool, along with Caroline) Jane did not remove her hand from Maura's attentions, and just smiled. "I think I'm going to be working enough overtime for the next couple weeks to justify a late morning." She sipped her beer, finishing it, but made no move to get up and leave. "I'm going to have to go to DC in January for a weekend, probably, but that should be it for a while. Our boy Rick owes me some favors, and one of 'em is not dragging my ass across the country all the time. Looks like we're good there."

The mention of her biological father could easily have caused Maura to tense up, but it didn't. Perhaps she was too tired; perhaps too focused on post-prandial entertainments to come. Her only physical response was a smile. "Good. Because, you know, I'm thinking I'd really like to take you somewhere when this case is finished, or perhaps for Christmas. Somewhere... quiet. A spa, or a low-key cruise, or maybe the cabin. What do you think?"

"Cabin, definitely the cabin," Jane said quickly, and then blushed a little. "I think I'd enjoy it more if I wasn't so wrung out like last time. And besides, Mrs. Hudson's already seen me naked."

Maura's grin shone brightly in the darkly decorated bar. "She's one of the lucky few," agreed the petite woman. "Okay. I'll let her know we're going to be visiting soon. Do we have anything pressing to attend to?" asked Maura before finishing her mineral water.

"Nope," Jane smiled cheerfully. "Dean went home to deal with his blues, Anna's going home tomorrow morning, and Cavanaugh said Organized Crime is happier than he's ever seen 'em. Oh, and I totally kicked Brophy at chess on Friday."

That was news. "How did that happen?" She oozed out of the booth and stretched before going to collect her jacket.

Jane slide out from her side of the booth, leaving a nice tip. "He was visiting Dean in the hospital. I guess being the police priest means you have to be nice to the Feebies too," she shrugged. "I wanted to thank him for the other week. Being there for you."

Maura's nose wrinkled as she pulled her coat on and drew her hair out from beneath the collar. "I meant, how did you beat him? I know you're very good at chess, but he is, too. I'd have thought you'd... well, that the match would be slightly uneven."

"You don't even know the half of it," Jane boasted, forgiveably. "He was playing the game with Dean, right? And Dean is really bad at chess. When Brophy and I left Dean to his meds, I took over Dean's pieces. If I'd had the game from the start, I bet I would've beat him a lot sooner."

Justifiably, Maura looked impressed; and to Jane, who knew well what it looked like, a bit turned on as well. "Wow."

Jane beamed at Maura, shoving her arms carelessly into her coat. "It's funny, but even though we don't have the answers, I kind of feel like everything's going to be okay."

"Let's hope your optimism is justified. It's so rare," mused Maura, pulling her gloves on and securing the fit. Everything was precise. They made for the door, and once the two were outside, Maura stopped and turned her face up to her love, letting the light from the open window and the nearby street lamp illumine her pale features. "What about us, Jane?"

Jane thought about that for a moment, wriggling her fingers in the gloves Maura bought her last winter. "Do you remember that I told you I would never say everything would be okay when I couldn't promise that? We're gonna be okay, because we're in this together."

* * *

><p><strong>The End (For Now)<br>**

**Well wasn't this fun? Some of those dangling threads from the last fic are cleared up, some new ones are left here. When will they tell Frost, Korsak, Frankie and Tommy? What about Frank Sr.? Does the idea of Maura sitting down like the man and telling the Rizzoli boys 'I'm sleeping with your sister' amuse you?**

**This time we didn't pick up on a current issue, but at least we used a poisoning method that has been popular for quite a long time. Thallium has been used as a poison for years; even Agatha Christie wrote about it, as we mentioned in-fic. We think you're all okay with the lack of "current events ripped from the headlines," given what we did cover: a crime, the season 2 finale, a bit more of the 'how Jane and Maura hooked up' story, coming out to Angela, Paddy Doyle and his impact on Maura, Casey, Dean... It was a lot, and we all got through it together. We feel we've bonded. Let's all sing Kum Ba Yah.**

**What's next? Something a lot fluffier! We all need it!**


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